


Hold On Hope

by VeteranKlaus



Series: Flowers Bloom Beneath My Feet [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dave will come into later chapters so it's okay, Depression, Disabled Character, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 77,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22184404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Wind whips across his face and the buildings pass by in an incoherent blur. Beneath the pounding of the car radio, the people inside laugh loudly. Klaus joins in.He sees red lights. They speed forwards. He doesn't see the headlights coming closer.Or, in which Klaus gets into an accident and it leaves him paralysed below the waist.
Relationships: Dave/Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves/Eudora Patch
Series: Flowers Bloom Beneath My Feet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944880
Comments: 1184
Kudos: 1173





	1. Prologue

They all stumble out of the club in a mess of limbs and laughter at one another's clumsiness. Someone - Klaus can't remember his name - has his arm around Klaus' waist and together they pitch side to side, following the other three ahead of them. They're all friends that he had met in the club and gotten quickly along with over shots and pills. Then, when the world had lit up like a Christmas tree, they had come to the idea of all going to one of their apartment's, doing a few lines and having a good time, and that seemed (and still does) like the best idea any of them had ever thought of.

He's at the point where he might argue that he's too high. He doesn't like getting to this level of high - he prefers to be functional and have a pleasant buzz that makes things fun. Now, though, the world is blindingly bright for two in the morning, and the world is spinning and wobbling beneath his feet. His heart pounds painfully beneath his ribcage and he's positively boiling alive, skin hot to the touch, and everything keeps changing in a way that he can't explain. 

But it's fine. Someone with an unsteady hand offers him a half-smoked joint and he takes a greedy drag of it. He can't feel it burning in his throat or chest. 

Someone coughs and they all laugh as if it's hilarious. Klaus almost trips and so does the brunette clinging to him, but one of them grabs them and they all keep laughing. 

They're good people, Klaus thinks. All attractive, all hilarious, all incredibly smart - the only thing that could make the night better is a few lines, some more shots, and getting fucked. 

"This one! It's this one, get the fuck in!" The one with black hair yells, pulling open the driver's side door to a sleek black car. Someone laughs at Klaus' shocked expression. 

"It's a beaut, isn't it?" They say, and then Klaus is falling into the middle backseat, against someone who wraps an arm around him and presses their lips briefly to his neck. He arches into the touch, turns around to reciprocate it hungry as everyone else gets in. Someone cheers in excitement at the show and someone else joins in, and the car growls as the driver starts it up. 

"Where the - where the fuck are we going?" Klaus asks breathlessly. In the split second it takes him to move away to say this question, both the man he's now half-straddling in the car and himself have forgotten what they were even doing. 

"I have an apartment," says the driver. "I've also got coke there."

Everyone cheers and Klaus joins in. 

"How fast can this baby go?" Someone asks, and the driver grins, pupils devouring his irises. 

"Is that a challenge?"

Klaus hits the roof above him. "Fuck yeah it is, let's go!" He says. He looks up, eyebrows raising at the sight of a window over him. There's a sunroof?

The car starts and they're pulling away and onto the empty road. 

"Klaus, seriously, what the fuck - this is dangerous, get out of the car, Klaus-"

"Shut the fuck up, Ben," snarls Klaus.

"Shut up, Ben!" Another man jeers with a laugh that everyone joins in on. Klaus falls off a man's lap and into the middle seat, squashed between two men as the car swerves around a corner.

"Open the windows, man, I'm fucking dying here," Klaus says, clinging onto the front seat. The man does; all the windows slide open, including the one above him, and cold wind floods the car and Klaus' skirt almost goes up. To drown it out, the radio turns on too, and the man in the passenger's seat reaches forwards to turn it right up until it's almost deafening and shakes his bones. 

"Bro, what the fuck, you said you were out!" Accuses the man to his left. Klaus looks forwards and the guy in the passenger's seat is snorting something off the dashboard.

The man to his right leans forwards and hits the back of his head. The blond in question snaps his head up, glaring at him. "It's the last of it, chill! Christ, there's more at his, be patient."

"Sharing's caring," Klaus drawls, slumping against the man on his right. He feels like he can't breathe. The breeze from the windows is Heavenly. The man's hands feel huge as they settle on Klaus' bare torso. Where did his shirt go? He doesn't know; doesn't care.

"What he said."

The car makes a horrific noise and Klaus nearly falls out the window to his right as they swerve around a corner. The driver cheers and the blond in the passenger's seat laughs hysterically. Klaus can't help but laugh as well, what with the way the world spins around him. God, he has no idea what's happening, but he feels amazing and the night only seems to be getting better. 

A hand crawls up his thigh beneath the skirt and he lets it. For a while, he just loses himself, letting awareness slip away, devoured by his high. The world disappears around him and he can't hear any ghosts, can't hear Ben, can't hear anything. 

He startles back, snapping his eyes open as his consciousness lands back in his body. They're still driving recklessly, swerving over all the lanes of the road, music pounding, people laughing and cheering and yelling. 

Klaus looks up. His eyes land on the sunroof and he sits up, eyes wide. "Oh, shit, watch this," he says, clumsy hands gripping the front seats as he stands up and then leans out of the window. His hands settle on the roof of the car and the wind that greets him feels amazing on his hot skin, running like fingers through his hair. 

The city passes him an incoherent blur. The lights seem blinding, all vibrant colours that he thinks seem beautiful, and his heart beats a marathon against his ribs. He feels alive.

"Klaus, you're going to fucking crash, ask them to stop and get out, please," Ben begs him. 

Klaus throws his hands up and through Ben's face and cheers. The people in the car below him join in too.

He sees red lights hanging over the road. The car continues to speed forwards like a bullet. He sees headlights appear suddenly, rapidly coming closer, and then Klaus is in the air. He doesn't feel afraid. Everything goes dark before he hits the floor.

###

“Klaus, are you okay?"

He continues to stare at the opposite wall. There’s a calendar hanging on the wall. It’s a different month.   
  


Six weeks, they had said. He had been in a coma for six weeks. They’d had to resuscitate Klaus. Both the driver and the blond man in the passenger’s side of the car are dead and the other two men had been in critical condition earlier.   
  


Klaus doesn’t really care about them, though. He never knew their names.   
  


Exhaustion pulls heavy at his eyelids.   
  


They can try physical therapy, they had offered sympathetically, and yet they had also said that he would never walk again. He doesn’t understand why they’d be hopeful and say that.

Klaus closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to let me know what you thought, I’d love to hear it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up; I'm not a doctor, don't quote me on anything, do politely correct me if I'm wrong - otherwise, enjoy!

Days pass by in a bit of a blur. There are tests to be done now that he’s awake and they want to ensure that he can remember his own name. He does little more than blink and sleep and listen to doctors, the mechanical beeping of different machines, the click of shoes on tile, occasional running, people being rushed by on gurneys outside his room. He’s weaned off the ventilator much to his pleasure once he can safely breathe by himself. He can move his upper body, though a little clumsily, hands not always going exactly where he means to put them, but somewhere around his hips he stops feeling things. He stares at his legs and wills them to move, to twitch, to do something, but they might as well not be his legs.

He can’t remember the car crash. His memory of that month is spotty at best – enough to recall what month it should have been when he opened his eyes, but little more, and he tries to avoid being asked what year it is because he honestly can't place it for the life of him, only to be asked anyway and have to shamefully admit he doesn't know and for Ben to frown and murmur _twenty-thirteen, November_ – and it is the doctors and Ben that recount what happened. The car had been utterly wrecked, a mess of mangled metal. The passenger had gone through the windshield, the driver almost did the same, and Klaus had been on the ground a disturbing length away from the whole accident. He had been leaning out of the sunroof. He had been so _stupid_.

He tries to talk and little sound leaves his lips. Expected, the doctors say, but it makes it no less reassuring to Klaus because it takes him entire days to make incoherent sounds and no one understands what he’s trying to say and he can’t do anything about it. He throws his pillows off the bed and throws himself off the bed, almost re-breaking his arm and collar bone, only to be lifted back up onto it, pillows sorted, nurses trying to calm him down.

Ben stays by his side, at least. He tries to calm Klaus as well, but what good is calming someone if they can’t even explain why they’re worked up? Even if it’s obvious – of course, anyone would be distressed in Klaus’ situation, but Ben doesn’t _understand._

His body doesn’t feel like it is his anymore; it doesn’t do what he wants, it doesn’t work, and he can’t even tell anyone that. He feels as if he's been trapped in a body that isn't his.

There’s a nurse – Amy – who comes by regularly. Ben says she took a liking to him; six weeks all alone in a coma, some tragic sad story. She bought him flowers for his room because it was depressingly empty. He wouldn’t admit it, but the idea – the fact that he was alone scares him. What is his family doing right now? For the past six weeks? No one has come to see him, no one knows he’s here. Has anything happened to them? Have they thought about him at all?

Amy is a younger nurse with cropped blonde hair and brown eyes and a crooked but ever bright smile and a slight southern accent, and she’s kind, chatty, as if trying to make up for his loneliness.

She comes by one morning again to come check on him – it’s the first time she’s seen him awake. She startles in the doorway at the sight of him sitting upright, eyes on the television.

“Oh!” She exclaims. “They switch me out for a week and I miss you waking up!” She tuts, shaking her head. “How are you feeling?”

Klaus shrugs. Her shoes click as she comes close, eying a file in her hands and humming. She is chatty while doing her checks even if Klaus doesn’t respond with anything more than an acknowledging grunt. She talks to him normally and it’s refreshing. Tension slips free from his shoulders and his eyes track her as she goes about the room. She has a cat named Zeke and she likes the _Hannibal_ television series and recommends it until she says the way his face screws up when she mentions gore, and so she recommends a different television show instead – then promises to bring in the DVDs for him to watch.

She rearranges the pillows behind him, smoothens out the blankets over his lap and opens a window. She stays for a little while longer, too, before she has to go, and she talks about trivial things. She speaks slowly and clearly, Klaus notices – her words enunciated and firm and simple, and he’s ashamed to realise, too, that it helps. It is easier to understand her when she talks like that than it is when Ben talks, even if he talks normally.

By the time she says a goodbye, a little apologetically, Klaus is a little more relaxed, lulled, and he turns his eyes back to the television.

“She spoke to you a lot while you were, uh, you know,” says Ben. Klaus grunts. “She’s nice.” Klaus just nods his head. She is nice, but Klaus is so tired. He turns his head away from Ben, towards the window cracked open, and he closes his eyes.

###

The TV show that Amy brings in for him is, admittedly, pretty good, even if he finds it slightly difficult to follow. He spends most of his time getting prodded at by doctors, watching television or sleeping.

His arm is taken out of the cast not long after and they start him eating by himself again slowly. He feels like everything is monitored, under close scrutiny, and he feels like he’s going insane, surrounded by the same four walls, the same view outside the window.

He cries a lot. More than he’d really like to admit it, but most of it is out of pure frustration. His gut is constantly writhing, twisting in despair and hopelessness and anger and frustration. He can’t even say Ben’s name yet; can’t even say his own name. Amy tries to tell him to relax; he can’t help it, he just has to be patient and keep trying. But he is, and it isn’t working, and he can’t do anything. The news of his condition hardly sounds much better.

Sure, he ought to talk again, and they start speech therapy and encourage him, though so far it hardly amounts to a poor, vague imitation of vague sounds that might possibly resemble his own name if he tried talking black-out drunk with his face buried in a blanket. He was unconscious for the worst of his healing process, he’s out of the danger zone, and in all aspects aside from walking they believe he ought to make a full recovery and, they say, he can still lead a normal life.

He doubts that. What is he going to do when he gets discharged? Where is he going to go? He can’t frequent the clubs he used to, god knows what his dealers might do or say or think if they saw him roll up to them in a wheelchair; he won’t be able to weasel his way into a bed for the night with a sway of his hips, guiding them away from the crowd and closer to him. He’s going to end up on the streets and his only means of surviving have been stripped away. He’ll be on the news as some tragic homeless death in the upcoming winter and it will still be his own fault; a consequence of his actions, even if not directly tied to an overdose or being murdered by some sketchy person like he and his family probably expected.

They make a routine for him; waking up, being fed, checked in on again and again, a rush of prodding and medication and boring television and helplessness. The only good thing to come of it all is that he’s on enough painkillers that no ghosts (besides Ben) show up in his room or in the hallways.

The talking progresses gradually, agonisingly slowly. Ben tries to help him as well and at some point, he begins to speak a little slower, a little clearer. Klaus hates it, and yet what’s he supposed to do? Sometimes words just don’t click in his head and hold little to no meaning to him, though he knows that it’s probably simple, yet it takes him longer and rephrasing it to understand it, and then he feels even more stupid than before and he can’t even vent or explain his frustrations and it bubbles over in the form of red cheeks and furious tears.

But there’s nothing he can do.

###

He tries to eat for the first time by himself again. He hates it. Perhaps it was the coma, but the texture, the consistency, the taste – he can’t stand it and he quickly dreads each time he has to eat. He doesn’t remember food tasting so horrific on his tongue, but he also remembers liking a couple of what they give him early on – easy food – and now it tastes revolting and he almost wishes that he had the feeding tube again.

###

They start discussing the options of physical therapy once it seems that he’s stable; able to breathe and eat by himself, broken bones healing as expected, (relative) mental clarity that doesn’t seem to be declining. They discuss what it would entail, how it would help even if he can’t walk, and it’s really Ben who encourages him to agree to do it when he doesn’t see the point in it.

He’s just been left alone after one of those discussions when Amy knocks on the door and comes around the corner.

“How are you feeling today, then?” She asks with a grin. She opens the curtains by the window, flooding the room with natural light and letting him see the frost glittering on the cars outside. “Nearly froze getting in this morning; are you warm enough?” Klaus nods. “Good, good. Oh! I do have a question for you.”

Klaus’ head cocks to the side, eyebrow raised curiously. Her shoes click as she comes closer and her fingers smooth out the blankets over him. “You had no contacts when you came in, so we couldn’t phone anyone – family, friends, anyone – but now you’re awake, and I know it’s been a while since then as well, but if there is anyone that we can call, I’ll get around to doing that.”

Klaus pauses. Oh, yeah. Diego had taken his name off his emergency contacts three hospitalisations ago; Vanya before that, Allison before her. Klaus sighs, pressing his lips together.

“Klaus,” says Ben, standing at the other side of his bed. “You need to phone one of them – any of them, all of them, really.”

Klaus gives him a look. Amy raises her eyebrow at him. His lips part and Diego’s name doesn’t leave them. He thinks it’s kind of ironic and he wonders if this is how Diego feels with his stutter. Amy rests a hand on his arm and offers a smile, one that typically annoys him when any other doctor wears. Klaus just looks away, grinding his teeth together.

Though it takes longer than it really ought to do, she gets the message. Diego is his brother, his number used to be on the contacts. Amy assures him that she’ll get through to him and Klaus wishes he could tell her that it’s probably a waste of time.

But there’s an alarm and she startles slightly, but then offers him an apologetic smile and then hurries out of the room.

Klaus drops his head back onto the pillow behind him. Will Diego get the call from the hospital, see the ID and just hang up? How long will Klaus have to stay in this room, in this building, only to be let out and have nothing and nowhere to go. Though he supposes that maybe being in a wheelchair would maybe get him some more money on the streets; tug on people’s heartstrings.

Klaus scrubs one hand down his face, exhales heavily, and tries to say Ben’s name.

###

It’s one of their off-days, thank god, and the only plans Diego has is to sleep with Eudora in his arms and order some takeaway.

He wakes up with her hair half-smothering him, giving him the excuse of gently carding his fingers through it and brushing it over her shoulder, only to follow it with his hand, then his lips.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmurs when she moves ever so slightly. She turns over with a grunt, eyes sliding open. She raises an eyebrow at him, then shoves his chest.

“Your breath stinks,” she mutters. Diego just grins at her.

“Good morning to you, too.”

She closes her eyes and rests her forehead down against his shoulder. One of her hands slide over Diego’s side, resting on his hip, and he can’t help but lean down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

They’d been together for little over a year now after what felt like years of trying to buy Eudora over in any way he could. They’d been friends at the Academy and his feelings for her had grown into something like a schoolboy crush and the others had made fun of him for it; said it was so painfully obvious he was head over heels. He’d trip over himself in his haste to get things for her if she needed anything and he tried to impress her at whatever chance he could get, too.

In the end, though, it worked out, because she had given in to his flirting eventually and allowed him to take her on a date, and here they were now.

Eudora sits up slowly, stretching her back and then swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m gonna go shower,” she says. Diego grins, propping himself up on his elbows but before he can even say what he was about to, Eudora interrupts him. She fixes him with a stern look. “Alone.”

He deflates, laying back down. “Fine,” he sighs dramatically. Eudora snorts.

“If you want to be a dear, you could make us some breakfast. Well,” she pauses and glances at the alarm clock beside the bed. “Lunch.”

Diego eyes the clock, lips pressed together. Nonetheless, he sits up, pushing aside the blankets. “Sure thing,” he respond, and it earns him a gentle smile before she slips out of the room and towards the bathroom. Diego pulls on a pair of sweatpants discarded on the floor by the bed before making his way into the small kitchen, fumbling to make a pot of coffee and eying the food they have. Eventually, however, he just settles on grabbing some frozen waffles and heating them up.

Arms sneak around his waist and he can’t help but startle as Eudora presses herself against his back. He can feel a drop of water from her hair run down his back and he suppresses a shiver though it pushes itself out as she runs a hand around his back when she steps to his side.

“Waffles?” She says.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Not very romantic, is it,” she says, raising an eyebrow almost challengingly.

“Didn’t think you were the romantic type,” Diego responds.

“You’re losing your touch,” she teases. Diego rolls his eyes and gives her a smirk.

“You had no complaints last night,” he returns. Eudora hums, folding her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, _but_ -“

“No, that’s fine.”

Eudora snorts, nudging his side. She finishes making the two cups of coffees while Diego puts the waffles onto plates and sits down with them at the small kitchen table. Done, he shoves aside the dishes in the growing pile in the sink and then stands behind Eudora, hands on her shoulders, massaging gently, lips on the back of her head.

“Do you ever get your mind out of that gutter?” She asks him. Diego hums.

“This is perfectly innocent, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Eudora hums sceptically, lifting her hands to rest them over his and squeezing them gently. Her head tips back and he ducks his own to pepper her neck with gentle kisses. She leans back into his touch and Diego’s mind is just full of the best ways they can start the day when – the phone goes off.

He groans into Eudora’s neck and she just laughs at his misfortune, then nudges his hands. “Go answer it, then,” she grins.

“Let it go to voicemail,” Diego mutters.

“And if it’s important?”

“They’ll ring again.”

“Diego.”

He groans once more but nonetheless peels himself away, hurrying to the phone before it can go to voicemail. He pulls it up to his ear and, a little sharply, says; “hello?”

He expects their boss, maybe. Eudora’s family, or even the electrician that had come out last week. He doesn’t expect to be greeted formally by the front desk of a hospital burned into his mind.

“What is it?” He asks, going a little paler as dread curls in his stomach. Despite who he’s used to being called for, his thoughts don’t go immediately to Klaus but to his family in general; Vanya, or Allison, or even Luther. He shouldn’t be surprised when he’s told that _we have your brother here asking for you._

“No,” he says, any worry melting away to frustration. There’s a reason he got his name removed from Klaus’ contacts; of course he hadn’t wanted to and he still feels bad about it, but he hadn’t the emotional or mental energy to keep seeing Klaus in a hospital bed because of the same reason despite the amount of help he and the rest of their siblings had offered him. It was exhausting and he was wearing himself thin with anxiety and self-blame for Klaus. “No, no, no. I’m not on his contacts for a reason; don’t phone me, he can deal with it himself.”

“Sir,” the woman on the other end of the line says before he can hang up, “we are aware of Mr Hargreeves’ medical records, but this,” she pauses, a break in professionality, one Diego isn’t used to hearing, “is a different case. I have to ask if you’re able to come in.”

Diego pauses. Eudora eyes him with gentle concern in her eyes and he turns his gaze away from him. “What do you mean?” Diego asks. “What happened? It’s not an – an overdose?”

There’s another pause. “No.” Diego’s breath hitches. “I think it’s best if you got the news in person. Would you be able to come by today?”

“Is he okay? What happened?”

And, despite himself and the promises he always made _(you can’t spend your life running after Klaus when he doesn’t even care about his own himself, Klaus is always out of the hospital before you even get there, he’s a grownup, it’s time he deals with this by himself, he can’t keep trying to fix Klaus when Klaus takes his hospitality as an opportunity to steal money for drugs)_ he finds himself immediately heading towards his bedroom, Eudora hot on his trail, fumbling for some clothes.

“I believe-“

“What happened?”

The person on the phone sighs. “Your brother was in an accident,” she says, following it up quickly with, “and he’s stable now, but he needs his family here.”

Diego pauses, hovering with one leg in his jeans, other one lifted in the air. That still leaves too many variables, too many unspoken opportunities – what kind of accident? How severe? – but at least he’s stable, and he’s managed to give them Diego’s number – though whether or not that’s a good thing he can’t be sure, Klaus would rather jump out of a hospital window than willingly have his family called to him.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he says, then hangs up the phone call and drops it aside.

“What’s wrong?” Eudora asks, watching him trip into his jeans and hastily do the button and zipper.

“Klaus is in hospital,” Diego says. Eudora’s shoulders slump and she looks at him with a slightly exasperated look.

“You said you-“

“It’s different,” Diego says, jaw locking. “He was in an accident. I – I need to go.”

She pauses at that. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Do you want me to drive?”

He shakes his head, pulls on his shirt, then kisses her cheek. “I’ve got it. I’ll be back soon,” he says.

“Take your time,” she tells him, following him to the front door as he shoves his feet in some shoes, grabs his keys and hurries into his car.

###

“Klaus Hargreeves; I’m here for Klaus Hargreeves, he was – he was in an accident?”

The receptionist looks up as Diego’s hands land heavily on the desk. She raises an eyebrow. She turns her attention to her computer, typing and clicking for a moment before her face scrunches up for a brief second. “Take a seat,” she says, “someone will come and get you in a minute.”

Diego doesn’t like that. He’s never had to wait before.

Nonetheless, he makes his way to a seat in the waiting room, clasping his hands together. He doesn’t like hospitals and he does partially blame Klaus for it – in general, hospitals are uncomfortable places, sad places, and now they’re full of memories of Klaus, pale and wide-eyed, trembling with withdrawals in a bed; Klaus, with bruises and hollow cheeks and scarred elbows; Klaus, with a ventilator down his throat, trying to tear it out himself.

“Here for Klaus Hargreeves?”

His eyes snap up to a woman standing with a clipboard in her hands; soft brown eyes and blonde hair framing her face, she speaks with a slight southern accent and smiles softly when he stands up, nods, and comes up to her.

“I’m glad to see you here,” she says, guiding him away from the waiting room. “We would have phoned you earlier, but there are no emergency contacts for Klaus and we had to wait for him to give us one.”

“I was told he was in an accident,” he says, voice not hiding his worry. “How bad is it?” She gives him a sad smile.

“Ah, yeah. The good news is that he’s stable; he’s making progress, he’s making a very good recovery, so I want you to keep that in mind. The news always makes it sound more daunting than it is.”

“What is it?” Diego urges, impatient, and the nurse just keeps up that gentle smile.

“Your brother was in an a vehicle accident eight weeks ago, and-“

“Eight weeks ago?” Diego echoes, incredulous. “What – why didn’t he call me before now? What do you mean?” He stops in his tracks and stares at the nurse wide-eyed. “Cut – cut the bullshit, okay, I don’t need the medical terms, just tell me what happened.” He can’t help but get worked up, his jaw locked. But the nurse takes it in stride, just nodding and picking up where she left off.

“He was in a vehicle accident eight weeks ago that left him in a coma for six weeks. He was in critical condition and it was touch and go for the first few days, but those six weeks allowed his body to heal through the worst of it before he woke up. He’s in stable condition now; he’s breathing on his own, he’s able to eat on his own. He’s healing well and making a good recovery; he suffered a few broken bones and underwent surgery that all went well without complications. He is having issues with his speech and comprehension, but it isn’t anything we haven’t dealt with and isn’t something that ought to be permanent; again, he’s making already making some progress, but I understand it’s a little daunting to see. He might need you to speak a little slower and clearer, but just be patient with him.”

She pauses, watching Diego carefully as he tries to process it. He’s grateful for the lack of medical mumbo-jumbo she must be saving him from because he isn’t entirely sure he’d cope with all of the technical terms overwhelming him.

He exhales slowly. Six weeks. Klaus had been in a coma for six weeks – what had he been doing the past eight weeks? He hadn’t even thought of Klaus. A little vaguely he does recall hearing a story of a car crash around then on the news; it had been bad.

“Was he alone in the car?” He asks. The nurse shakes her head. “Is that it? When can he get out? What else is it?”

The nurse stops in her steps and so does Diego, stomach dropping. He hadn’t expected there to actually been more. She seems to read the way his face drops even further.

“He was in a car with four other people all heavily under the influence. They were speeding and collided with another car and when it happened, your brother was standing through the car’s sunroof and was thrown out. Aside from what I’ve already addressed, he received a lower spinal cord injury. Again, he’s made great progress in the last eight weeks and still is, but the injury hast left him paralysed below the waist, and they’re discussing physical therapy that will still be beneficial for him to do.”

Diego swallows. His lips move around a question that doesn’t come out for several seconds. “W-what? He’s – can he walk?”

The nurse smiles apologetically, her head shaking slowly. Everything seems to be going in slow motion all of a sudden, his head a little light. She sets a hand on his arm, jolting him back to the hospital corridor they stand in.

“No,” she tells him. “And it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to. I understand it’s hard to see and at such a young age it’s hard to accept; and that’s why he needs you here for him.”

Diego swallows. And he was going to hang up the phone when they said his name.

But the nurse forces him to catch her gaze again and raises an eyebrow and Diego swallows. He nods, then, not trusting himself with words, and she smiles before continuing down the corridor.

Part of him doesn’t believe it. He’ll go in and it’ll all be a trick and Klaus’ room will be empty and the window open.

He doesn’t expect to walk in and see Klaus in the bed, looking as pale as the bedsheets and skinny, his skin splattered in colourful, fading bruises and irritated skin. His head rolls to face the door and his eyes fall onto Diego.

Klaus lifts a hand at waves at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts, feel free to let me know in the comments!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

"K-Klaus." 

Diego steps forwards slowly, fists flexing by his side. Klaus drops his hand onto his lap and his lips twitch into a not-smile. There are fading bruises splattered around his skin, pale and sickly, and he looks gaunt, his cheeks sunken further into his face. His eyes seem dull, lined by dark bags. He looks sicker now than after any overdose, surrounded by medical equipment and melting into the hospital background. 

Diego steps forwards on clumsy feet until he is but a few feet from his bedside. Here, his tongue dashes across his lips, his mouth suddenly, traitorously dry, words crumbling. 

Klaus waves, again. A ripple of his fingers, one after the other. There is a seat nearby and Diego ought to sit. He stands instead. Klaus' eyes remain on him, intense, odd without a ring of heavy makeup now, and he doesn't say anything.

"The nurse, uh... she said what happened," he says. Klaus quirks one eyebrow up ever so slightly. "I'm... I'm sorry."

And it hurts worse to see him now. Knowing the news of what had happened, he could pretend that it hadn't, that it was all a sick joke with no evidence, but here it is now, laid out in front of him on a hospital bed. And he'd been like this, alone, for eight weeks. He'd been like this, unconscious, for six weeks, and no one had known. He had been alone. And what if he hadn't woken up? If he was still in that coma now? If he was to never wake up? When would they find out? 

Klaus waves a hand, breaking through his thoughts, shattering them and chasing them away with the motion. He shrugs, as if to excuse him, and Diego swallows. The silence feels oppressive and Diego wishes he would just say something - something stupid, something that would break the tension and the awkwardness. But he doesn't.

Does he even want him here? He probably ought to leave, he thinks. But it was his number, not Vanya's or Allison's or the Academy's, that he had given out himself. Despite how much Diego wants to run from the situation, he finds himself rooted to the spot.

Diego takes the chair and taking it is the declaration that he isn't about to leave, to himself and to Klaus. He pulls it closer and turns it to face his brother and then he sits down.

"Have they mentioned when you can leave?"

Klaus shakes his head.

"How are you feeling?"

Klaus shrugs.

"I'm sorry for not being here."

Klaus waves it off. Diego exhales slowly.

"I... they told me."

A quirk of his eyebrow.

"The injuries."

Klaus just stares at him, almost challenging, almost defeated. 

"You, uh. She mentioned... you, uh." Klaus tips his head to the side and Diego grinds his teeth together. "P-physical therapy. They said you can't - can't walk."

And Klaus shrugs and looks away. A breath of air escapes between the tight space of his teeth, grinding together, and he sits up.

" _Klaus_ ," he says, "say something, come on."

Klaus gives him a look at that; angry, eyes flashing, body tensing. His shoulders rise to try and reach his ears and Diego sees his fingers curl into the bed sheets over his thin body; Diego has only seen that look of anger on Klaus when he was coming off of shit. 

Klaus gives a pointed glare to the thin air to his other side, one that would make anyone on the receiving end shut up, and then he turns to Diego and opens his mouth. Diego expects, perhaps, a throng of colourful curses, a witty retort, something sharp that will make him get up and leave. He does not expect a heavy breath of air and a twisted voice, warped, to say; _"Day..."_

His brows furrow and he deflates, but Klaus keeps going. The word drags out, heavy, as if the sounds are falling off his tongue before he has the chance to shape them into what he means. His voice sounds not-quite right and his hands shake with the grip on the bed sheets, an anger burning in his eyes. He keeps going; flat sounds that (sometimes, not always) begin with the letter D, but go somewhere else. _Dee, Day, Duh, Dah, Go_. It takes him a lot longer than it should have to realise that Klaus is trying to say his name, but making very little progress in doing so.

His anger bleeds into frustration directed towards himself, as if Klaus knows that he is saying Diego's name but just as it leaves his lips it falls apart, or maybe it doesn't ever form the name; he can't be sure. 

His thoughts, then, go back to the doctor. Problems with his speech, she had said. She hadn't said or implied to what extent those problems were. Diego gets to witness it first hand and feels something hot light up in himself when he realises this, when Klaus keeps trying despite the way his eyes shine with furious tears. 

_Oh._ Diego’s stomach twists in pain. He knows the frustration in Klaus’ eyes, knows what it’s like to try to speak and to feel as if your mind and your body are two entirely separate things, disconnected. Knows the frustration of thinking over his words, over and over and over again, and for his mouth to trip and stumble over it, to clam up and glue to the bottom of his mouth. He knows the frustration of looking at the person he’s trying to talk to as the time stretches out and the words don’t come, won’t come, and for people to not understand what he’s saying and how hard he’s trying. He knows the way Klaus’ cheeks puff out and how his lips quiver with the way the words crumble apart on them, the way his tongue twitches like a poor, dying, useless thing, and the need to keep going, keep trying. He knows the way Klaus’ cheeks heat with embarrassment, wondering how stupid he himself must be if he can’t even say a few words.

Diego understands that.

“Klaus,” he says, a little gently, “Klaus, stop, I’m – I’m sorry, stop.”

Klaus’ attempt at speech breaks off to a frustrated whine, head thumping back onto the pillow. Then he babbles, incoherent noises that don’t make sense bubbling over his lips before he just gives up and lifts his hand to swipe roughly at the wetness of his cheeks.

Diego isn’t sure what to say. He’s no Grace; he can’t squeeze Klaus’ hand and tell him to picture the words in his mind. He hasn’t seen Klaus since the overdose following Ben’s funeral. Who knows what had happened since.

“Can I do anything?” He asks, sitting forwards. Klaus’ eyes turn swiftly onto him, almost offending at the question and even Diego grimaces a little. What can he do? What can he possibly do?

Klaus’ eyes flick to the door and Diego gives him a look. “I’m not leaving you, bro, not now.”

Klaus presses his lips tightly together and looks away, determinedly burning a hole in the wall opposite him with his gaze. An awkward silence befalls them broken only by the background din of hospital life. It feels as if there is a great chasm between the two of them, keeping them too distant from one another, unable to cross and reach over, and it feels as if it had been growing since they were young. He almost feels like a stranger.

He doesn’t believe in stupid things like fate, but he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he got up and walked out, what would happen if he reached forwards and set his hand on Klaus’ arm.

In the end, Diego does neither; he remains in the chair with his hands on his lap, and then he talks. He talks about Eudora, and the police Academy, and of seeing Vanya walking into a theatre with her violin, and Allison’s latest movie. The words don’t really mean anything, but they fill the silence and keeps Diego there, so it’s good enough.

###

The nurse comes by again. She takes Diego out with a gentle smile. Klaus can hear them chatting in the corridor.

"It's really good you were able to come," she tells him. "It really helps the recovery process, to have someone there, and I'm sorry to cut it short."

Diego just grunts. He's no saint; he has no idea if Klaus was even listening to half of what he was talking about, no idea how he could possibly be any help. 

"We're actually hoping to start some physical therapy with him today, which is why I had to cut it short. Well; we want to introduce him to the team he'd be working with, explain it a bit to him, ease him into the idea; he didn't seem too keen on the idea to start with. You can always come back later, or tomorrow; I'm sure he'd love to see you again-"

"He doesn't like the dark," Diego interrupts, gaze solid, staring straight forwards. "Leave a - a lamp on, or something, when he sleeps. Or all of the lights."

Amy gives him a smile, nodding. "I'll remember that," she says. "If you have any of his stuff, you're welcome to bring anything in for him. What kind of hobbies does he do?"

Diego pauses, open-mouthed. What kind of hobbies _does_ Klaus do, in between all of the drugs and parties? 

"He, uh. He liked to draw, when we were younger," he murmurs, uncertain. Amy just smiles again at him, as if encouraging him on.

"Maybe he has a sketchbook somewhere you could bring in?" She suggest. "Something to keep him occupied in his free time."

"He hates horror movies," Diego says. "Anything with - with ghosts or violence, unless it's a cheesy cartoon he can make fun of." He isn't sure why he's saying all of this, and why now, but it seems important. Klaus can't say it for himself; has he been sleeping in the dark these past two weeks? Maybe that's why he looks so tired; he's not been sleeping. Has the television switched to some show with blood and violence, and he's been unable to change it, forced to watch something Diego knows used to give him nightmares? 

"He likes eyeliner. Likes painting his nails. Likes cringy pop music, can't stand rap."

"Well," says Amy, hand on his arm. "When you come visit him again, you make sure that you bring some of the stuff he likes, huh?"

Diego swallows and nods. Right. They're in the lobby again. Before she can leave, Diego turns to her. "Take - take care of him," he asks, sudden. Amy nods.

"Of course. He's in the best hands right now; and it'll be easier with some support from his family, too."

And then he's alone. Lingering, lost, in the lobby, Diego moves on autopilot to his car, sliding into the driver's seat.

His fists hit the wheel.

###

Before returning to Eudora’s side, he finds himself driving on autopilot into town. His mind feels like it’s still struggling to come to terms with everyone that just happened and he grasps onto the idea of getting Klaus things like Amy had said – he doesn’t have a sketchbook anywhere that Diego knows of, so he’ll buy one, and a pack of pencils. He’ll need an eraser and a sharpener, too, of course. Coloured pencils? He’ll get a pack just in case. What about one of those colour therapy books? He might enjoy that – Diego would get one of those books for him as well, then. Klaus always needed music; Diego probably has some old Walkman somewhere he can lend him. He had seen how sad and frustrated he had been; maybe some cheap eyeliner pencil and a handful of different colours of nail-polish might also cheer him up.

Mind set, Diego went into the shopping centre only to come out an hour later with everything he had said he was going to buy. He had the urge just to drive back to the hospital and give it all to him then, but he remembered what the nurse had told him – Klaus was probably busy, then. So he’d go home, return to Eudora, and he’d sort this out and go back tomorrow and give it to him.

###

“Shopping?”

Diego sets the bag down on the coffee table, looking up at Eudora. “I – uh, it’s – I got some things. For Klaus.”

Eudora nods, looking briefly down at the coffee she was drinking before setting it down and standing up. She comes up to his side, resting her hand on his arm and guiding him to the couch.

“What happened?” She asks, sitting beside him. Diego bites his lips, toys with it anxiously between his teeth and looks away as his eyes sting.

“Klaus,” he says, “he’s – he was in an a-accident. Bad.” He scrubs his hand down his face, shaking his head. “Eight weeks ago. I only got the call now because I took my name off his contacts and he was – he was… fuck, Eudora, I – it’s bad, and I didn’t even know-“

“You can’t blame yourself for it,” says Eudora, covering his hand with hers, “you’re there for him now.”

“He’s been there for eight weeks!” Diego exclaims, leaning back in the chair. “He was – he was in a c-c-“ he has to pause, breathe slowly and calm down slightly before continuing. “He was in a c- _coma_ for six weeks. He was all alone and I didn’t know – I would have hung up the phone and left him there. Eudora-“ He inhales shakily, pressing his lips together. “He – he can’t even talk properly. They said… they said he won’t walk again. I – I got him some stuff, some things to do, but I – I don’t know what to do, Eudora.”

Eudora squeezes his hand gently. “Did they say when he’ll get out of hospital?”

Diego shakes his head. “Not yet. He – the nurse wants him to do some physical therapy. She said it’ll help him, whether or not he’s able to walk again. I don’t know.”

“Well, until then; visit him, when you can. You said you used to be close when you were younger, right? If you think you can, he’d probably appreciate you there.”

Diego swallows, looking down at his hands and nodding. The last time he had seen Klaus, they had had an argument. Klaus had come back from rehab, staying with Diego. He had been proud of him, had hoped that this time would be different, this time he would stay sober; only for Klaus to take the money from his wallet and almost break his window trying to get back inside while off his face on something. Diego had broken; he couldn’t keep doing this back and forth thing with Klaus, watching his brother destroy himself and exploit any help he tried to give him. So they’d argued and he’d kicked Klaus out with the warning that he never wanted to see him while he was high again.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he could have stopped this. If he had kept helping him, kept reaching out, kept a closer eye on him.

But what if’s will do nothing for Klaus’ current situation, so he simply nods and leans into Eudora’s touch and decides that he’ll go visit him again tomorrow.

### 

Klaus looks up as Amy comes back into his room ten minutes later, Diego-less. "I'm sorry to cut your visit short, Klaus," she says, coming close and rearranging the chair Diego had moved slightly before sitting onto it. "But, if you're willing to, we have the team of nurses and physical therapists you'd work with here. I think it'd be good to get you introduced to them; we don't have to do anything today, I'm afraid we have to wait just a little longer, but this will let you see who you will be working with, let you know what would happen. How does that sound?" 

Klaus' shoulders slump. Really, he doesn't think he can be bothered; he has no motivation for introductions when he can't even introduce himself. Amy offers him a sympathetic smile. "I know," she says, "it's all a lot of effort, really. Though I can't force you to do something you don't want to, I still stand by the fact I think you should do it."

Klaus' head leans back against the pillow, letting out a sigh.

“She said it would still be good for you,” says Ben, drifting closer to his bedside. “There’s no point in not trying, Klaus.”

Klaus gives him a look. Ben had been insistent about this and Klaus found he simply couldn’t conjure up the effort to even try; what would it help, really? Not him walking, as they had said, so what was the point?

Nonetheless, he heaves a sigh and waves one hand in a reluctant _fine,_ head dipping in a begrudging nod. Amy understands well enough and lights up.

“Good! That’s great, Klaus, trust me. I know it’s hard to believe that right now, I understand that, but you’re doing so well. And your brother will be back to visit tomorrow, so hopefully you’ll get a break from all my rambling.”

Klaus can’t help the unconvinced look that falls across his face. Sure, Diego had come today – but he had been called in. He’d been hesitant in the room, too, and Klaus feared he’d made a mistake in calling Diego in. He should have simply shook his head when she asked if he could call anyone, but the past two weeks had been horrific and he’d wanted someone in such a childish, desperate way, and Diego was the first one to come to mind. He’d held himself back from opening up too much to Diego while he was here, preparing himself for how Diego won’t show tomorrow to save himself the emotional hurt it’ll undoubtedly cause.

He doesn’t blame Diego either, not really, but still – he wanted someone, anyone, and it hurt to think that he had no one. Sure, Ben was there, but Ben couldn’t comfort him physically and Ben was always there.

“Don’t be silly,” says Amy, resting a hand on his arm. “Of course he’ll be back. I spoke to him; he cares about you, Klaus.”

Klaus looks away, afraid his emotions might betray him and get the better of him as they have been doing so these past two weeks. Amy squeezes his arm gently and then rises to her feet.

“How about I go get the team, huh?” She offers. Still rather reluctantly, Klaus nods his head, just because he knows it will make her happy. And it does; she lights up, grins at him, and then turns and leaves.

Alone again, Klaus lets his head drop onto the pillow and closes his eyes.

He’s just so _tired_. He can’t find the motivation to care about trying to better his situation in any way, either; what good will it do when Diego doesn’t come back to see him and he’s put out of the hospital soon, when the weather is still all horrific and cold and wet, and he’s on the streets once more?

He’s already resigned himself to it. He fucked up big time and the remainder of his life will be spent in a hospital bed. If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll fall and hit his head in just the right way that he won’t have to struggle through cold nights in wet alleyways with a wheelchair.

For now, though, he simply sighs and tries to melt into the bed beneath him before Amy comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts so far!


	4. Chapter 4

The team Amy introduced to him were, Klaus has to admit, all very nice people; of course they were. They were gentle when speaking to Klaus, explaining just about everything so that he didn’t even need to ask any questions; they explained everything and probably in more detail than necessary, too; in medical talk that wouldn’t have made sense to Klaus before the accident anyway. They explain it in such a way that even he begins to feel like maybe doing it is a good idea. Ben is, evidently, pleased to see that; encouraging him gently that everything will work out and he’s making the right choices.

But, Klaus thinks, what other choices are there?

They still want to give him a few more days rest before they actually do anything physical with him, which Klaus is fine with; he has no energy at the moment to even bother trying to find any motivation to do it. Even if they managed to put it into such terms that compelled him into believing it would do any good for him in his condition, it didn’t mean he suddenly had the motivation to get up and train under the belief he’d walk out of the hospital.

So, instead he simply sleeps. Ignoring the coma, of course, Klaus thinks that he’s slept more here than he ever has in his entire life. It was peaceful before, when he was still groggy and disoriented when he first woke up, but now while he’s recovering and making a regular sleeping schedule the nightmares are filtering through. The darkness in his bedroom at night isn’t overly comforting either; there is still light coming from the hallway and the lights from the equipment around him, but it isn’t nearly as bright as he would have liked.

Funnily enough, however, the night that Diego had visited him, Amy leaves a lamp on, and he gets a peaceful sleep that night.

The next morning brings scheduled food, regular check-ins and medication, as well as one of the increasingly-familiar sponge baths. He still hates them, his cheeks still flame with embarrassment each time the nurses come around; he’s not so much embarrassed by his own nudity – that hasn’t brought him shame in a long time – but rather the utter helplessness and uselessness, the fact that he can’t do something as simple as get up and shower himself.

Had he been able to speak, it might have been slightly better; he might have been able to make some jokes, make the nurses laugh; been ever so slightly less pathetic. But as it is, he couldn’t do any of that. The nurses chat amongst themselves and have a one-sided conversation with Klaus.

His hair had grown an uncomfortable amount since the accident; his curls springing forth with the extra length, messy and untamed, and he’d have to make some kind of point in attempting to get Amy to understand his poor translation of _haircut._ Hell, if she gave him the scissors he would do it himself.

Left alone once more after the sponge bath, he had nearly been falling asleep to Ben’s voice as he read his book aloud, when there was a gentle knock at the door before it was nudged open and Amy stepped inside, shoes clicking. He lifted his head, blinking blearily at her and at the person she brought with her; changing from tired to surprised.

Diego was with her.

Well, he really hadn’t expected that. He lifted himself upright slightly as she came closer, Diego lingering a few feet behind her.

“Sorry to wake you,” she says, offering an apologetic smile. “But I have a guest for you.” Her hand waves to Diego.

Klaus just nods his head at her and she excuses herself, closing the door behind her as she leaves, and then it’s just the two of them. Diego has a bag in one hand.

“Uh. Good morning,” he says, then seems to cringe at himself. He cross the room, pulls the chair into a better position, then sets the bag on the chair’s arm and rifles through it. Despite himself, Klaus can’t help but lean closer in curiosity, trying to get a glimpse. “I got some stuff for you,” he says. Klaus raises an eyebrow at him, slumping in the bed. He watches as Diego takes out a sketchbook, evidently new, and then he puts a packet of charcoal pencils on top of it, then follows it with some coloured pencils. He brings out a colour therapy book, sets it on the table, and then out comes a Walkman connected to headphones. Then, when Klaus thinks Diego’s beginning to look a little bit like the drawing of Santa Claus he once saw, he keeps going; an eyeliner pencil, followed by a handful of little bottles of nail polish that clink against one another, all different colours; a pastel yellow, a light blue, a black, a dark green and a mint green, a purple, and a red.

Klaus looks up at him, eyebrows raised and jaw a little slack. He was still reeling from the fact that Diego was here, but with a ton of gifts, obviously new and just-bought? It was almost enough to make him emotional and warm his heart.

“Yeah, for you,” says Diego in response to his expression. “You said you didn’t know how long you would still be here; I’m surprised you survived two weeks without anything to do.”

Klaus scoffs, but nonetheless his lips curl into a rare, genuine smile and he reaches out with unsteady hands to ghost them over the gifts in front of himself. Diego watches him carefully, uncertain, and so Klaus nods his head in appreciation and mouths _thank you._

With that, Diego returns the nod and then sits down in the chair. “They fed you yet?” He asks. Klaus nods. “Don’t suppose you like the shit here?”

Klaus lets out a heavy breath in place for a short laugh, shaking his head. He picks up the sketchbook, eying it carefully. Diego’s cheeks heat slightly and he looks away.

“When – when were younger, you used to draw everywhere all the time,” he states, tipping his head in his direction. “At least that’ll keep it on some paper rather than the walls.”

Klaus just quirks an eyebrow at his short joke, flipping it open to the first clean page and running his fingertips over it. He hasn’t drawn in ages; being a homeless drug addict doesn’t offer many artistic opportunities. He did in rehab, but he hadn’t been to rehab in a while. But in the Academy, he had drawn often; he had enjoyed it and he liked to imagine he wasn’t too shabby at it either. It was a nice thing for Diego to get him, he thinks, an action that went a little deeper.

So, he opens up the sketchbook and takes out one of the pencils, holding it up to the light and eying the sharpened end. Diego watches him carefully, as if he expects Klaus to spit on the sketchbook and chuck it aside, disgusted that Diego would get him anything, so Klaus just nods his head at him, once more offering an ever so slight smile.

“I – uh, the nurse – Amy – she mentioned the, ah, physical therapy?”

Klaus’ shoulders slumps and he looks away before shrugging half-heartedly, mood falling. He understands everyone’s concern of course, but sometimes he wished everyone would follow Amy’s lead and just have a normal conversation with him, with no mentions of therapy or injuries.

“She said it’d be good for you,” says Diego. Klaus sighs, pursing his lips slightly.

 _It doesn’t really matter,_ he wants to say. _It’s just giving me some kind of false hope so the nurses hope that having a goal means I won’t kill myself when I’m alone. It won’t really help. I'd just be wasting time because I’ll never be able to walk again and what’s the point?_

But he can’t say any of that. He can only simply be subject to all this false enthusiasm and childish encouragement and have no real say in it at all, unless he wants to try and just then be on the receiving end of sympathetic smiles and sorry eyes.

He shakes his head and then shrugs, waving out his hands, palms-up, fingers spread, as if to say _I don’t fucking know._

Diego gives him a look. “It will be,” he states. Klaus just shrugs once more, looking down at the blank sketchbook on his lap. It’s easy to be optimistic when you’re not the one suffering.

“Like, both physically and mentally, you know, and plus, it’ll help with coordination and stuff, she said-“

“I don’t care,” says Klaus. Or, he tries to; of course those words don’t leave his lips. He groans in frustration, head falling back onto his pillow. He blinks up at the ceiling for several moments before sitting upright, reaching for the sketchbook and pencil again, and then he takes the pencil to the paper in an unsteady hand with the idea of writing what he wants to say, and –

And-

He freezes. He feels like he’s run into a brick wall.

 _Talk about something else,_ he can think. That’s all he wants to ask Diego to do. But his mouth won’t work and apparently nor will his god damn hand. His body is broken and so is his brain and how is this supposed to get any better? There is only one thing about his recovery that is fact, and that’s the fact that he’ll never walk again. The rest of it, the neurological side of things, are full of hopeful guesses. He _could_ learn how to talk again, but will it be soon, will it be clear and fluent and will he sound the same? No one knows. And he’s not spoken to the doctors about writing, either. Can he read? He’s not tried. He doesn’t want to, now.

The accident might as well have taken his memories as well; he might as well have just not come out of the coma. Not that there’s much difference to his current state and a coma; the only one being that now he’s conscious and aware of his poor condition, of everything that’s been taken from him.

“Klaus?”

He looks up sharply to see Diego staring at him, eyebrows furrowed together slightly. Klaus swallows and looks away, shaking his head and setting the pencil down.

He just wants Diego to talk about something else – anything else – besides his own situation, or he wants him to leave. He eyes Diego as if he might be able to somehow relearn how to talk by doing so or, at the very least, figure out a way to translate what he means to him. Then he leans forwards, reaching out a hand and tapping the logo of Diego’s shirt. Diego follows his hand and raises his eyebrows.

“The police academy?” He says. Klaus slumps back into the bed and nods. It seems to take Diego a few moments to understand what Klaus wants but, blessedly, he makes the connection and then he begins to talk.

His boss is a dick and doesn’t like Diego all that much; it’s getting competitive nowadays. Diego is living with one of the other people at the academy – a woman named Eudora – and he decidedly ignores the suggestive look Klaus gives him at that. He says some other things but Klaus doesn’t really understand it; he speaks faster than Amy and the other doctors and nurses and Ben, and some words leave his lips that just don’t click in his mind. It’s frustrating, especially the time that Diego says something and seems to look for some kind of reaction from Klaus and Ben has to swoop in, repeating what Diego had said in slow words, rephrased, and Klaus reacts accordingly, if a little delayed.

It’s frustrating. Ben rephrases it and it clicks and he feels so pathetically stupid; it was simple, obvious, and it had felt as if Diego was speaking a different language, or some kind of slang from an entirely different country. He just doesn’t understand and he despises it.

Diego disappears for fifteen minutes, returning with some food from the cafeteria located somewhere else in the hospital. “Hungry?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. Klaus wonders how much encouragement Amy would give him if she finds out that he actually nods and takes the food, nibbling slowly on it. His stomach is still testy with him, easy to fill and upset if he eats too fast or too much, so he doesn’t quite manage to eat all of it but he tries.

“I’ll try and bring something better than hospital food next time,” Diego offers and Klaus swallows. Next time. Of course Diego will come back, and the tension that builds up as the end of visiting hours approaches relaxes a little. Klaus nods his head, even if he’s not overtly interested in that.

But Amy comes by to break up their chats, and so Diego gets to his feet. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises. “Uh, with work, the hours might be weird, but I’ll – I’ll be here.”

Klaus eyes him and that curious expression that is so _Diego_ of him – that awkward but sincere expression in which his true care and concern always manages to filter through, his eyes softened and lips parted. For someone who likes to uphold a tough reputation, Klaus thinks, he’s always been like that.

So he nods and wiggles his fingers in a goodbye wave and watches the two of them leave, not bothering to try and listen when they begin to talk outside of the hospital room. Instead, he turns to the things Diego got him.

He reaches for the Walkman, setting the headphones on and looking at handful of tapes Diego brought with it. He slips one in, presses play, settling into the familiarity and comfort of music, and then he eyes the nail polish with his lips curling into a traitorous smile.

He reaches for the yellow polish, unscrews it and makes an attempt to start painting his thumbnail. He only just manages to do it; his hands are shaky and uncoordinated and he is left with yellow polish on his skin around his nail, all messy and poorly done.

Klaus puts the nail polish aside after that, motivation suddenly stomped down, and then he turns his head away from the door and closes his eyes, one hand holding the headphones in place and tries to focus on the music rather than the sudden hopelessness bubbling in his guts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diego is Good Brother, Best Brother one might say


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a sad one, bois :(

Klaus wakes in a motion he is painfully familiar with. A yell is strangled in the back of his throat, his eyes fly open and his body jerks away from the mattress in some kind of aborted attempt to move, to run. Nightmarish images flash on the backs of his eyelids before bleeding into the shadows of his mind, the nightmare already slipping away from his grasp, satisfied with the way it has managed to tear from him any hopes for peace and rest he had.

His eyes take in the familiar room around him and he slumps in some kind of relief and frustration. Through the small gap in the curtains he can tell it’s hardly morning; still dark outside with drops of rain splattering against the windows. His shaky hands retrieve the headphones Diego had brought him days ago that seemed to rarely ever leave his head. He also retrieves the colour therapy book that he had started. That with the music helped focus his mind on something other than pale skin and blood gurgling screams. It started shaky, colour falling outside of lines and, unless he took his time to repeatedly revisit areas, white paper shone through; his hand too unsteady and uncoordinated to go where he wanted it to as smoothly as he wanted it to. Though, at the very least he thought it did begin to get a little neater with each passing page he did.

It was a small thing – he doesn’t think anyone else even noticed it – but he couldn’t help the way some odd sense of pride bubbled up inside of him when he picked up on it. It was a small victory, one he felt bad for mentally celebrating, but he did nonetheless.

By the time morning rears its head, he is still awake, listening to a song on repeat. His body is heavy with fatigue, his mind groggy in a half-awake state, but his eyes fall closed for only a few seconds before decaying faces spring forth to greet him once more.

Amy’s presence with breakfast startles him out of this state a little and he sits more upright, peeling the headphones away from his ears, setting them aside. Amy greets him with an ever-bright grin, setting his breakfast on the table and twisting the table over his lap, and then she moves to the windows to pull open the curtains.

“Good morning,” she greets, then frowns. “Well, at least in here. Doesn’t look too nice outside. I think we’re supposed to start getting snow this week,” she tells him, setting her hands on her hips as she swiftly eyes the rain outside. Turning to place her back to the window, she comes close.

It’s when she doesn’t leave that Klaus sits a little more upright, raising an eyebrow at her. She offers him a reassuring smile though it doesn’t do much to ease his curiosity or nerves when she sits down, crossing one leg over the other. Still, it’s not as if he can ask her anything or respond to whatever it is she’s about to say, so he works to start eating instead.

“Do you feel alright this morning?” She asks, head tilted to the side. “Sleep well?” Klaus shrugs, pauses, then nods. The idea of attempting to tell Amy he actually sleeps like shit almost makes him guilty; she’s one of the very few positives here, somehow manages to make everything a little less dull and depressing. She’s chatty in a way that seems more like a friend than a carer, and her positive outlook on things is in a way that isn’t irritating or misplaced. He feels it’d probably upset her if she found out that he had nightmares strong enough to tear him out of the bone-deep exhaustion he constantly feels these days.

“Good,” she says, and Klaus just bobs his head in acknowledgement. He takes a sip of water, sets it down with unsteady hands. “And, I have some good news with me, too.”

Klaus raises his eyebrows at her, encouraging her to go on as he picks up the yoghurt in front of him. It’s one of the nicer things he can actually stomach how he ever lived without it before is beyond him.

“We’re able to begin your physical therapy today, if you’re still willing to do so.” She sounds excited, ever enthusiastic as she looks at him, while Klaus feels his stomach sink. He can’t help it. His heart picks up, beating faster and faster as he thinks about it and he’s grateful he’s no longer hooked up to any heart monitor or else it would expose his anxiety to Amy.

He knows that they explained it all to him, that it’s supposed to help, to do whatever, but he isn’t sure if he can do it. So far he can still lie to himself. He can remain sitting in bed and pretend as if that is it; he’s simply sitting because he wants to. He can lie to himself and pretend that things aren’t as bad as they seem, that when he wants to he will swing his legs over the edge of the bed, stand up and walk out of the hospital by himself.

But doing the therapy will just confront him with the fact that this isn’t some kind of dream. He can’t hide from it any longer if he accepts this; he has to face it. He can’t pretend any longer. And he isn’t sure that he can face it.

Amy rests a hand on his arm. “But we’re going at your pace here, Klaus,” she tells him. “If you feel like you need longer, we wait. We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Klaus presses his lips together and looks down at his hands. The lid of the yoghurt is still pinched carefully between his shaky fingertips, half-peeled back, and then he sits it down on the table. Amy just waits patiently for his response, not pushing or insisting, not expecting anything from him.

Reluctantly, he nods his head. He keeps his gaze on his lap and nods and Amy grins, squeezing his arm.

“Great,” she says. “That’s great, Klaus. I’ll go talk to them and we’ll get that sorted for later, alright? Eat up, I’ll be back soon.”

She stands, offering one last smile his way before she turns around and leaves. Klaus’ fingers wiggle in a slow wave at her back before dropping onto his lap like dead weight.

He looks at the yoghurt on the table in front of him and has no appetite.

He puts the headphones over his ears and turns to look out the window, watching drops of rain race one another down the window.

###

The team filter into his room not long following breakfast. The group are nice, of course, and he likes them all well enough, but he’s grateful for Amy’s familiar face. He’s on edge, his nerves frayed already, but he recognises Amy and she’s comforting, reassuring.

They go over the different exercises. Their main focus would be core and upper body, of course; to try and rebuild his balance and his coordination, his strength, but in a soft voice Mary explains that they can still exercise his legs, too; to maintain flexibility and keep his joints healthy.

Klaus doesn’t see the point in maintaining joints that will never move again. They can dip his legs in cement for all he cares.

He stays in some kind of trance as they talk, stuck in a detached state and just nodding his head along with everything that is said to him.

But he startles slightly at movement, looking down to see Felix, explaining what he’s doing as he does it; hands on his legs, touching and moving them, and he can’t feel it, he can’t stop it, can’t move away. It feels like an odd, perverse invasion of privacy and all of a sudden it’s overwhelming.

His breathing comes in short, sharp gasps and he twists, waving his hands out and shaking his head side to side, side to side. He lashes out with phantom limbs and his body doesn’t even twitch in response to his commands and he makes twisted noises attempting to imitate _stop._

They get the message either way. They stop quickly, they reassure him. Amy squeezes his hand and guides his breathing back to something steady and the others leave at Klaus’ incoherent insistence through gritted teeth.

“I know it’s a lot,” says Amy, “I understand, but you tried and you did good, Klaus.”

Klaus scrubs roughly at his eyes in a poor attempt to dry them. He doesn’t want to be rude, but he wants to be alone, needs to be. She leaves him with a sad smile and Klaus ignores any attempts at talking Ben makes. He just curls forwards, doubles over, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and cries.

###

Time ticks away with each blink of his eyes. He turns his music up and stares at the window, watches cars drive into the parking lot below, watches them drive past with a mocking sense of freedom that Klaus doesn’t have any longer.

Ben takes to reading quietly by himself or disappearing entirely, leaving Klaus to himself. He’s fine with that; he has no motivation to listen, has no energy left to confront his lack of speech either.

He hoped these moments would stretch out forever, moments in which he could do nothing more than simply exist; and just barely.

Lunch came and went untouched, unnoticed, here and gone in less than a blink. Light comes and goes and he wonders if he’ll feel more rested tomorrow. He’s not slept, but he doesn’t think he’s necessarily been awake either. He was perfectly content with that, and yet it seemed today was simply not allowing him a break.

Admittedly, he had forgotten about Diego. His mind felt more scattered than usual and he pinned it on the stress and breakdown of the morning, and his thoughts never once turned to his brother. So, to see him striding into his room without knocking, a brown paper bag in one hand and the other a cup holder with one steaming coffee and one iced, he startles.

He peels his headphones off reluctantly, just enough to hear Diego.

“I got donuts,” he says, setting the back on the table and following it by the coffees. He takes the iced one out of the holder and sets it closer to Klaus, takes out the hot one and holds it close to himself as he sits down. “And that coffee you always liked.”

Klaus nods his head in acknowledgement and looks at it for a fleeting moment before turning to eye the window. It’s still raining.

“The donut’s your favourite, too,” says Diego. “Or, one of them; you’d eat what you could get your hands on before,” he snorts jokingly. Klaus’ fingertips run along the headphones in his lap. Faintly, he can hear music still playing from them.

“I, ah, the nurse – Amy – she said that you started the physio today? That’s good news, Klaus-“

Klaus shakes his head, making a noise and cutting him off. Is it too much to ask that they just don’t talk about it? He’s fed up of hearing it. He wants a day of normal conversations and of not being reminded by everyone who he comes into contact with that he’s not like he used to be in such a way that he can’t put a mask over.

Diego does stop, though, mouth hovering over the lid of his coffee and eyebrows raised. He sets the coffee down before he can have a proper drink of it, slumping slightly in his seat. “Did it go well?” He asks.

Klaus can feel himself getting worked up again, dormant emotions rising violently. He waves one hand dismissively, trying to get Diego to drop it, but then he simply reaches for his headphones and places them over his ears again, instantly drowning out Diego’s voice beneath a violent bass.

Diego scowls at him and leans forwards, plucking the headphones off with ease. “Don’t shut me out, bro,” he says, setting the headphones aside before Klaus can lunge out and grab them back. “What is it? The physio? You know what they said about it, bro, it’s good for you-“

Klaus cuts Diego off once more, shaking his head and whining. They don’t understand, none of them do. He hates their enthusiasm, their misplaced optimism, how they think it must be so easy to just keep going, that if the doctors say things might work out, then the idea of doubt and depression is ludicrous.

He can try all he wants, and yet he can see how his fingers dig into his legs and he can’t feel it, and he can watch how the doctors move his body for him and he’s helpless, utterly helpless.

“Klaus – Klaus, shh, it’s fine – it’s alright Klaus,” says Diego, standing and coming closer to his bedside.

But it’s _not_ fine – it’s _not_ and it won’t be and it’s Klaus’ own fault that he’s in this position. Diego doesn’t understand that it isn’t and never will be fine, and Klaus can’t even tell him. Slurred imitations trip and stumble off his lips and he feels like he’s being betrayed by his own body.

Klaus shoves at Diego when he comes close and tries to touch him, shoving his hands away and getting louder, glaring at him with tearful eyes. _“Out!”_ He tries to articulate, jabbing one hand out to point at the door while the other continues to push and shove. Any time Diego tries to speak over him he just yells louder until he sees Diego’s face fall and he steps back, shrugging off Klaus’ hands.

He lingers, hesitant, and then Klaus yells and points to the door and he nods, utters something Klaus thinks might have been either an apology or a promise to be back – something that he doesn’t care about much in that moment, anyway – and then he leaves, hurrying from the room before a nurse or someone can come and see what’s going on.

The door closes behind him and Klaus is alone again, ignoring Ben’s attempts to calm him, and he curls into himself, arms twisting around his body, and he cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to yell in the comments


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Breakfast comes and goes accompanied by another dreaded session of speech therapy. He likes Jo, the man he works with during these sessions. He has a German accent and green eyes and a jawline that would have made Klaus swoon over him in a club. He’s nice, but Klaus hardly ever practices speaking outside of their sessions because although he can hear the progress he’s made thanks to their sessions, and he knows that said progress would only continue if he kept practicing, he doesn’t want to confront it either. He doesn’t want the middle ground of struggling over sounds, doesn’t want people to hear him slur and stammer; he simply wants to be able to talk once more as he used to.

Ben tries to goad him into conversation multiple times, though often times fails to get Klaus to actually speak, as seems to be the same for Amy. It’s frustrating, but Klaus is nothing if not stubborn and if he doesn’t want to speak then everyone will have a damn tough time getting him to, much to Ben’s displeasure.

He passes time as he often does, his music just low enough so that he can hear Ben if he’s in the chatty mood, and he alternates between either colouring the spirals in the book Diego bought him or drawing sketches, often times of Ben while he’s looking out the window, reading or day dreaming. He’s doing such when the door opens and he expects Amy to come in, though a glance at the clock tells him it’s too early for the regularly scheduled dinner.

Instead, though, it’s Diego, once more with two coffees and a brown paper bag from the coffee shop.

“Bagels today,” he says, setting the bag down beside the coffee. “There’s a little tub thing of strawberry jam with it, too – I wasn’t sure if that’s your kind of thing or not. Person there has memorised the coffee order now.” He takes a sip of his coffee, face twitching and screwing up in a poor attempt at hiding his flinch when it burns his tongue, and then he sits down.

Klaus hums his acknowledgement, reaching out to take the bag and open it. He takes the bagel out as well as a little plastic knife and the jam, starts to spread it out with his lips pursed in concentration.

“Sorry I’m late; work’s busting my ass,” he says. His fingers pry the lid of his coffee off just enough for him to gently blow across it. “Getting closer to the end of the Academy and Johnson’s still trying to make me look like shit.”

Klaus quirks an eyebrow at him, biting into the bagel.

“He makes it sound like he’s not gotten into a fistfight with the guy,” Ben comments, hovering by the window. He turns to lean back against the wall, loosely folding his arms over his chest. “Which would be impressive, but I’m inclined to believe that it’s not true.”

Klaus snorts quietly, giving Ben a brief look. He shrugs once at Diego and reaches for his iced coffee. Diego uncrosses his leg to lean forwards, tipping his head towards the sketchbook still sat on his lap. “What’re you drawing?” He asks. Klaus stills as if caught doing something he shouldn’t, looking down at the half-sketch of Ben’s hooded form sitting with one leg up to his chest, the other dangling off the window ledge.

Diego leans forwards enough to look at it and a heavy silence settles over them like some thick, suffocating blanket. Klaus looks away with warm cheeks and guilty eyes, favouring the bagel in his hands.

Klaus thinks it is almost annoying; Ben had gotten smug and vocal since his death, more testy, and Klaus would readily declare him a bitch at any given moment in time. Of course, however, his siblings didn’t get to see this side of Ben and definitely wouldn’t believe him if he told him how Ben liked to poke fun at everyone, and he’d much rather avoid the whole drama that happened whenever anybody – but in particular, himself – mentioned Ben in any kind of light other than saintly.

Ben is perfectly fine with this.

“’s good,” Diego utters after several agonisingly long moments. “Better than that stupid statue dad made, anyway.”

Klaus snorts, offering a miniscule smile at him and then turns the sketchbook further away from him subtly.

Diego is quiet for another few moments before he speaks up once more. “Yellow not your colour?” He asks. Klaus gives him a confused look, tipping his head to the side, but then Diego points at his hand. “The nail.”

The polish on it is slightly chipped now from having been done days ago, but the messy traces of it are still stuck on his skin. He frowns at the sight of it, deflating slightly, and then he holds his hand in the air to showcase the way his hand trembles unsteadily. He shrugs, drops his hand back onto his lap and reaches instead for his coffee, twirling the straw and watching the ice swirl before he takes a sip.

Diego finds the nail polish all set aside, untouched, and he seems to eye it for several moments as if he’s having some kind of mental argument with both the polish and himself.

Then he brings them forwards on the little table, clearing a space beside them. “Give me your hand, then,” he says. Klaus raises an eyebrow incredulously and Diego gives him a look. “Come on, it’s unnerving enough for me to see you without that mess you call makeup.”

“Aww, cute,” says Ben, “he’s trying to maintain his masculinity.”

Klaus snorts, giving Ben a fleeting look before he reaches one of his hands out. Diego takes it, fixing his grip before raising an eyebrow. “What colour first, then?”

Klaus purses his lips around the straw in his coffee, eying them, and then he points at the mint green. Diego unscrews it, gets rid of the excess on the brush, and then leans forwards to paint his thumbnail.

Klaus watches him work carefully, as if uncertain on how to approach this kind of situation. Diego does a surprisingly good job at it, Klaus notices, and Ben leans close on the other side of the bed. “Think he’s done this before?” He asks. Klaus points one finger of his free hand at himself and Ben shakes his head. “That was, like, when we were nine. Maybe he’s got a guilty pleasure.”

Klaus taps his thumb to his ring finger and Ben hums. “Maybe. We’ve not met his girlfriend though, have we?”

Klaus shakes his head and Ben eyes Diego thoughtfully before shrugging. Diego puts the mint polish aside and Klaus points at the red, and so it goes; Klaus picking a different colour for each nail and Diego painting them cleanly, using his thumb to swipe aside any excess on his skin before it can dry. By the time he reaches for his second hand, he’s taking his job of painting his nails seriously, turning his hand slightly to make sure he’s not missed any parts of his nails or gone over it.

“Like old times, huh?” He murmurs, painting his middle nail black. Klaus’ lips curl and he looks away, remembers old times of staying up past curfew with and sneaking Allison’s makeup from her room to use for himself, often dragging either Diego or Ben along with him.

(And, still surviving as one of his greatest achievements, once Five when they were eleven.)

“No mention of when you can get out yet?” Diego asks, glancing briefly up from his nails. Klaus frowns and shakes his head. Diego sighs, pursing his lips. “I’ll talk to them,” he states. Klaus’ stomach twists and he tenses slightly. He doesn’t want to stay in the hospital for much longer, but it’s better than the streets. He swallows and looks away, shrugging one shoulder lightly as to not disturb or jostle Diego still painting his nails, though he feels as if Diego must be able to feel how his heart pounds and shakes his entire body.

“Next one?” Diego asks, oblivious, and Klaus points at the dark blue. He pulls it closer to himself, unscrews the brush and lets the excess drip off, then takes Klaus’ finger to hold it still as he paints it. Klaus chews absently on the top of his straw, turning his gaze to the window. It’s dark outside and had been snowing earlier. He can imagine the bite of chilling wind on his nose and cheeks and suddenly he has the craving to feel the wind run through his hair. He’s been stuck inside and everything here is sterile and artificial and he’s hit with a sudden sense of going stir crazy. He wants to get up and step outside and feel the wind and see the sky, to stretch his legs and to run.

He eyes the window with longing, gesturing half-heartedly to the last colour for Diego.

Diego finishes with a gentle squeeze to his hand before ensuring all of the nail polishes are closed tightly and set aside neatly. With his other hand, the polish all dried on his nails, Klaus nudges Diego and then points at the window. Diego raises his eyebrow at him.

“What about it?”

Klaus gives him a look. He makes an attempt at gesturing for him to open it and it takes him several moments before realisation flickers across his face. “You want me to open it?”

Klaus nods, sighing in relief, and Diego gets up, going over and opening it. Almost instantly he can feel a draft come in and he can hear the sounds of the city better. He closes his eyes against it, leaning back against the bed and revelling in the goose bumps that spread out across his skin in wake of the wind. And it’s refreshing.

Diego sits back down, making sure that his nails aren’t touching the blankets before they can all dry.

Diego talks. He’s gotten better at talking about random things that become nice background noise, better at receiving little to no answer from Klaus but understanding that he’s still listening, even if he isn’t looking at him.

He talks mainly about what he’s done that day, talks about the Academy and, occasionally, his girlfriend, Eudora

“I saw Allison on television yesterday,” he comments. “Doing some interview about her latest movie.” Diego pauses and Klaus turns his head away from the window to look at him, eyebrows raising ever so slightly. He looks conflicted, eying nothing in particular. “The others,” he says. “They don’t know.”

Klaus looks away again, pressing his lips together. He’d tried not to think too much about everyone else, honestly. He isn’t sure he wants them to see him like this – not Luther, at least. He doesn’t want Reginald to find out either, but he probably already knows even if he’s not show his face or sent a message of any kind.

“I can – I can phone them, if you want,” offers Diego. Klaus’ eyes shoot back to him and hesitates briefly before shaking his head. Diego’s eyebrows furrow. “Allison, Vanya; do you not want to see them?”

Klaus shakes his head. Not now, at least. Not while he’s still helpless and confined to this bed, unable to talk and hardly move.

Diego doesn’t say anything. He just stares thoughtfully at him for a moment before nodding, sitting back in his chair. “Alright, alright. I won’t say anything,” he promises. Klaus relaxes a little, slumping in the bed.

Diego takes away the trash, chucking it aside in the bin and, when the time to leave comes around he gets up. “Want me to close the window before I go? It’ll get cold,” he says. Klaus shakes his head. Amy will probably come around later and he’ll have her close it, but he still likes the fresh chill over his skin, some kind of freedom that he wants to take for as long as he can.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll bring some snacks; you look like they aren’t feeding you here,” he comments, standing up and pulling his coat on. He lingers for a moment, awkward, as is tradition so far. “Try and get some rest, bro, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

Klaus nods his head, wiggles his freshly-painted fingers at him in a goodbye wave, watching Diego retreat towards the door. As he reaches it, however, he makes a quick noise that gets his attention. Diego turns around quickly, eyebrows raised. “You good?”

Klaus’ tongue dashes across his lips and, with his heart pounding in his throat, he says; “t-thanks, Di.”

The words sound heavy, said as if with something in his mouth muffling him slightly, but he’s said it and it’s more coherent than anything he’s said in the past two weeks.

Diego seems to startle slightly, as if forgetting Klaus could ever speak in the first place, and then he offers a smile and a nod. “’Course,” he says, hand on the door frame. “Of course, Klaus. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He offers him one last lingering nod and Klaus can’t help but think there’s maybe something like a sudden spike of happiness in Diego’s face that echoes then in Klaus, and the door closes and the feeling remains in his chest.

He turns his head towards the window, breathes in the fresh air coming in and closes his eyes, somehow feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the last chapter, I had to make Diego paint his nails it had to happen


	7. Chapter 7

Klaus twists off the lid to the yoghurt in front of himself. He would have left it in favour of one of the many sweet snacks Diego had bought him and had sitting aside, but Ben was insistent on him eating something other than all of that. His sweet tooth seems to come back with a vengeance and Diego had rather resembled a saint when he had strolled in the other day with a bag full of sweets for him. Considering everything else Klaus has done in the past year alone, he thinks rekindling a good diet is the least of his problems, really, but Ben has always been horrifically optimistic and a ‘one step in the right direction’ kind of person when talking to Klaus, as if eating a proper breakfast might magically set him on the path of sobriety. Klaus appreciates the sentiment.

“It snowed again last night,” Ben reports by the window. Klaus’ eyes flick towards it and if he leans a little forwards in his bed he can see the remaining snow clinging to the ground, glittering in the early sunlight. Klaus has a love-hate relationship with snow.

Memories of the Academy’s courtyard covered in a layer of it flash in his mind, times of Diego cheating in snowball fights and attempting to have fun in their half hour free time they had, but those memories are quickly followed by memories of nights spent walking for hours in an attempt to keep himself warm, nights spent wedged between a wall and a dumpster with the fear that his eyes wouldn’t open the next morning, of considering just turning himself into the police for some random theft or possession charge just to sleep indoors.

He’s content to be inside where he’s comfortable and warm, but a part of him suddenly longs to hear snow crunch beneath the soles of his shoes. He tries not to think about what the snow will feel like when he leaves the hospital and has nowhere to turn to but the harsh embrace of winter. A sigh tumbles from his lips and he turns his head away from the window, offering a slight nod in response to Ben.

His brother turns from the window, gravitating with silent footsteps to his side. He settles onto the chair ever present beside his bed. Klaus raises an eyebrow at him, sparing a glance from his yoghurt to him.

“You should ask if they could take you out,” he says. “Or if Diego could. Like, for a walk.”

Klaus gives him a pointed look, face falling. His eyes flick briefly towards his legs hidden beneath his blanket and then looks back at a suddenly guilty looking Ben.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “But you’ve started the physio, you’re making progress; it might be nice to go outside. They probably have wheelchairs.” Ben ploughed through, determined to say what he was thinking rather than hesitating around the topic like Klaus still managed to do most of the time.

He grimaces at the idea, looking away and pursing his lips. The idea of going outside did feel exciting; after being trapped inside the hospital for so long, the idea of breathing fresh air, hearing and seeing something besides sterile white walls and uniforms and technical beeping and medical talk. Though he longed to see trees full of leaves and flowers blooming in vibrant colours and if he were to go out now, all he would see is naked trees with branches reaching out to an ever slate-grey sky.

Klaus shrugs his shoulders half-heartedly, turning his gaze down to the yoghurt still grasped between his hands. Finishing it, he sets it aside in favour of reaching for the sketchbook Diego had gotten him. Ben leans a little closer, curious, as Klaus flicks through the pages.

“Are you still doing that one of Amy?” He asks. Klaus turns to the page that holds a half-finished rough sketch of the nurse and he presses his lips together and nods. Ben offers him a soft smile, opening his mouth to continue when the door opens and in walks the nurse aforementioned.

“Me again,” she says cheerfully. She quirks an eyebrow. “All done?”

Klaus glances down at what remains of his breakfast, then nods his head. She takes the trash away for him, humming while she goes, and Klaus’ eyes follow her as she goes to and fro before returning once more to his bedside. Ben only just manages to stand up before she sits down on the chair, dancing his way to the opposite side of Klaus’ bed.

“How are you feeling about today, then?” She asks. Klaus deflates in the bed, shoulders slumping and body curling back into the mattress. They had given him time after the mess that was the first session of physical therapy, though Amy had encouraged him to think about it a little more. Rather reluctantly, he had agreed to try it once more, swallowing back the nausea the idea gave him.

And today was the day he had agreed to giving it another shot. His hands had already begun to shake more than usual and his heart to beat a little faster, his guts writhing in his stomach, so he simply settles on what he hopes is a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders while avoiding Amy’s eyes.

“It’s good that you’re still willing to give it a shot,” she tells him with a soft smile, “that’s a good thing, Klaus. You should be proud of yourself.”

Klaus isn’t sure what there is to be proud of, but he nods his head anyway. Amy picks up on his doubts and responds by giving him a stern look, eyebrows raising and hand nudging his shoulder gently.

“Seriously, Klaus. You’re doing great.”

Klaus, a little less sceptically, nods his head once more and allows himself to meet her eyes. She squeezes his hand and rises to her feet in a fluid motion, eyes flicking to the watch adorning her wrist. “I’ll be back in an hour with everyone; take it easy, Klaus.”

Klaus hums in response, watching her leave, and then he drops his head back onto his pillow and closes his eyes

###

He knew he had lost some coordination, that his balance was pretty poor – tipping over if he leaned slightly too far to one side, but he hadn’t anticipated how truly weak his upper body was now. Being confined to a bed, all he really had to do was lift food to his mouth and hold a pencil; it didn’t really highlight how weak he was. Now, having paid some attention to actually using his upper body, he noticed it.

He couldn’t hold his own body weight up; not for long, anyway. His arms shook with exertion and his core ached as if he had actually gone to a gym and exercised. It is disconcerting, to say the least.

He makes it through the full session this time, though.

They describe some of the leg exercises they – and he by himself – can do and then focus on upper body, something that Klaus feels more comfortable with. It’s light exercise, easier than anything Reginald had ever had them do back in the Academy, and yet it had him trembling with exertion just as much.

The nausea that was ever present when he tried to confront his situation remained, even more so any time he dared to look down at his motionless legs, when he visualised the leg exercises they spoke about and watched his own hands move his legs that would always stay disturbingly limp, but he didn’t panic like he had before.

He isn’t sure if that’s a sign of progress or not. It’s difficult in these sessions to try and hide away from this new reality, hard to distance himself from it like he usually can. Instead, he thinks about the future; he tries to imagine his mornings, waking up to lifting his own legs over the edge of the bed, of carrying himself to a wheelchair, of going through regular motions altered for him. He imagines two years time. Will he even bat an eye at it? Will he have forgotten what life had been like before that stupid accident? Will all of this be little more than some faint memory that doesn’t affect him anymore? Will he even still be alive?

They are thoughts he doesn’t quite like having; things he doesn’t want to confront, doesn’t want to imagine. He wants to cling desperately to the past as if he might be able to turn back time and avoid this whole situation, or he wants to act as if there isn’t a future where he’s unable to stand, to walk.

Though, for once, he doesn’t have these thoughts with that strong depression, that bleakness; nor does he look to it now optimistically, either. Close to blissfully numb and indifference, it seems, is all that he can truly muster; whether or not that is a good thing or not, he isn’t entirely sure, though the numbness is a welcome break from the fear and the anxiety.

By the time the session has ended, he’s surprisingly exhausted; his body full of lead, head stuffed full of cotton. He’s eager to fall back into bed and content with simply sleeping the rest of the day away. And he almost does; shortly after being left alone once more, he falls asleep in only a few minutes. It’s almost disorienting, because he wakes up with heavy eyes and confused as to when he fell asleep and what time it is now, and to the sound of a chair moving surprisingly nearby.

His head rolls to the other side, eyes blinking groggily to fix the image of Diego into clarity. His brother looks up as if caught red-handed as he settles down onto the chair. He offers an awkward smile to Klaus, watches how he fumbles to sit himself upright for a moment before leaning forwards.

“Hey, nah, the nurse said you had a long day, bro. Sleep, if you want. I’ll be here.”

He blinks at Diego, who looks as if he’s trying to play his care off as nonchalantly as he possible can, and he tries to stay awake, really, but his body melts so perfectly into the bed and he drifts off shamefully quickly.

He thinks he might hear the chair shuffle closer and he knows it when he feels a hand find his on the bed, though whatever it is Diego murmurs is quiet and incomprehensible and unimportant in the face of sleep.

###

“It’s actually nice to see you sleep for once,” Ben comments, sitting in the chair beside him, book open. Klaus grunts, raising one hand to rub his eyes. “You’ve probably slept here more than you ever have at the Academy or on the streets.”

Klaus snorts, rolling his eyes. He tries to seek out the clock before just accepting that it’s likely some random god-forsaken hour in the middle of the night. Diego is gone, though there’s still a pastry bag on his table, assuring him that he didn’t just hallucinate his brother’s arrival in a state of exhaustion, and it’s dark in the room save for the lamp Amy now leaves on for him; curtains drawn, hallway outside bare save for the occasional nurse or doctor, but no patient or visitor wandering.

Klaus nods his head at Ben’s book, eyebrows raising.

“It’s a good book,” says Ben defensively, narrowing his eyes when Klaus gives him a sceptical look. “It’s not my fault it’s the only one I can touch.” Another look from Klaus and Ben sighs, gaze bouncing away briefly. “It is interesting, though. Either way, I’d read it over again happily, thank you. You’re just uncultured.”

Klaus scoffs, lips curling upwards. He tilts his head away so that he can eye the ceiling above him, revelling in the peace broken only by the rhythmic ticking clock somewhere in the dimly lit room mingling with the sound of his own steady breaths and the occasional rustle of paper from Ben.

“Still, though, if you can, try and get some more rest.”

Klaus hums, blinking slowly. Then he turns to look at Ben, lips parted slightly, silence stretching, and then he says, simply, in a soft voice, “B-Ben.”

Ben’s eyes lift from the paper quickly, catching Klaus’ with something unsaid in his eyes. Had he needed air, Klaus may be tempted to say he held his breath.

Then he offers a soft smile, eyes crinkling. “Goodnight, Klaus,” he says, and Klaus closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day, I'd love to hear what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The physical therapy becomes more common once Klaus continues to agree to it and doesn't continue to panic so much as he had that first time. It takes a surprising amount of his energy, especially when they only just start, and even now he feels himself heavy with fatigue and should he allow it he would find little to no trouble in falling asleep right then and there. But he was determined to stay awake, at least for now, to try and save himself waking up at some random time in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep.

And plus, he thinks Diego would probably appreciate not watching Klaus sleep yet another day. So he focuses his attention on that colour therapy book of which he has made great progress, filling page after page, until the room door opens and Diego lets himself in. Klaus notices how he seems to brighten a little at seeing Klaus sitting upright in the bed, actually awake and not half-asleep. 

Klaus greets him with a wiggle of his fingers and Diego sits down. "Good to see you awake," his brother comments. Klaus hums, fingers idly fidgeting with the hem of the blanket over him. Diego's head nods towards the book on his lap. "You've made good progress in that, huh."

Klaus holds up the book to flick through the many colourful pages he's completed. Diego's head bobs in a nod. "Well, I'm just glad you actually like it."

Klaus shrugs, makes a face, and Diego looks at him unamused. "I know you do," he says. Klaus' lips curl into a sly smile and then he closes the book and sets it beside the coloured pencils and turns to properly look at Diego, who reaches into his pocket, pulls out a little packet, and then tosses it in the air towards Klaus. He reaches up, only just managing to catch it, and then makes a pleased noise upon seeing that it's a simple packet of gem sweets that he would rank at least in his top three favourite snacks. 

"I saw them and remembered how you used to make yourself sick eating so many," Diego tells him, looking aside.

"He's going to make your teeth rot," says Ben, tutting and shaking his head. Klaus, when Diego is still not looking at him, flips Ben off. 

Klaus busies his fingers with prying open the sweets and dropping a few into his mouth. Then he reaches forwards, slightly irritated that Diego seems to be lost in thought and not paying full attention to him, and he nudges his shoulder. The brunette startles and turns to Klaus with a raised eyebrow, watching this time as Klaus offers him a hopeful smile.

"Do you want me to get you something else?" He asks. Klaus hums lightly. "What is it?"

Klaus makes a gesture of smoking with two fingers. Diego's face falls and he gives him an unimpressed look, deadpan, and says, "I'm not getting you cigarettes while you're in hospital, Klaus."

He deflates, rolling his eyes and pouting. At the very least, he was unconscious for the worst of his withdrawals, but there's always the subconscious need for _something_ that doesn't just leave, even after a few months. Whatever medication he's still on to ease his stay in the hospital is enough to keep the ghosts at bay and help him fall asleep easier, but he's still antsy for something, and the motion of smoking - whether it be cigarettes or weed - is something comforting and the addicting rush that comes with nicotine seems enticing now, at least with the knowledge that there's no one here he can ask to get weed for him. So he settles on cigarettes. 

Plus, he thinks he deserves it. "Don't play on his heartstrings," Ben chastises jokingly. Klaus gives him a glare that is only half-playful.

"Hey," says Diego, swallowing, and Klaus turns to look at him again with raised eyebrows. "Sorry I was late, I - I was talking to Amy for a while," he states. Klaus' head tips to the side, encouraging him to go on. "We were talking about you leaving."

Klaus' eyebrows crawl further up his face and his lips part slightly. "Oh?" He urges after a moment, finding it in himself to willingly speak. Diego nods his head.

"She says that if everything goes well with the physio, you could leave soon."

"That's great news, Klaus," says Ben, lighting up. 

Klaus finds himself disagreeing. His heart finds itself lodged somewhere in his throat and his stomach seems to drop like a weight and he has to swallow, strain to listen over the sickening sound of his own thundering heartbeat.

"So," says Diego, "if you can focus on your physio, you can get out of here, bro."

Klaus looks to the window. He can hear violent wind whistle outside, scraping the glass, and he can only imagine how cold it must be. 

"It's late; I only managed to sneak in before the visiting hours are over-" He makes to stand and Klaus' racing mind stops abruptly. He turns quickly from the window with wide eyes and lunges forwards slightly, enough to grab Diego's wrist and hold him in place as he shakes his head.

Diego eyes him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. "Do you not want to get out?" He asks.

And oh, he does; he craves it like he craves drugs, but he'd also prefer to wait out the winter at the very least. It takes him several stretched out moments to make his throat and tongue work again as he swallows heavily around his anxiety. "H-hum-h-" he says, struggles over the rest of the word, anxiety not helping him at all but the word just won't come, his mouth disconnected from his brain and why can't he say one simple word, why does his mouth not do as he tells it, why can't he _speak_? "I - h- _home_ -"

"Take a breath, Klaus," says Diego, suddenly turning all soft and coming closer. "Take a moment, relax," he urges, and Klaus forces himself to let go of Diego's wrist and to lean back in the bed, breathing deeply for a moment before thinking over the word again and again.

"H- _homeless_ ," he finally spits out, the word clipped slightly, and he watches Diego deflate, his face falling.

"You - you aren't going back into the streets, Klaus," he says. "I - you can stay with me. You can come live with me and Eudora; you're not going back onto the streets."

Klaus blinks, eyes going wide as he stares at Diego. Watching Klaus' expression, he nods. "Serious, Klaus. I have a spare bed."

Klaus blinks. Diego's chest falls with a sigh and he returns to Klaus' bedside, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "You're not going back onto the streets, bro," he says, voice heavy and serious. Klaus' lips move in silent words and so he presses them together and swallows, nodding his head. "I'll talk to Amy about when you can get out," Diego continues, "but you're coming with me, bro."

He says goodbye, squeezing his hand once more before turning towards the door. Just as he settles his hand on the handle, however, Klaus swallows and leans forwards in his bed.

"D-D-ie-go," he says, slower than earlier - he always messes his name up when he tries to say it quickly, transitioning between the _D_ , _ie_ , and _go_ , for going too swiftly he just ends up with some variation of _Daygo_ or _Deego_ , but he says it now nonetheless, each syllable enunciated properly.

Diego turns, eyebrows raised as he eyes Klaus, and then he smiles gently.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Klaus," he says. Klaus nods his head, watches him go, and slumps in the bed.

###

“I kind of did something.”

Eudora turns around, craning her neck to watch as Diego locks the door behind him and hangs his jacket up, his eyes determinedly looking anywhere but his partner.

“Diego…” She says slowly, sitting upright. “What did you do?”

“Oh, you know,” he hums, crouching down to untie his shoe laces meticulously. Then, he holds both shoes together and sets them aside neatly.

“Stop deflecting,” she says, setting her coffee down onto the table in front of herself. One of her hands reach for the television remote to turn the volume down a few levels, effectively making sure that Diego’s proclamation will ring out clearly and he won’t get away with mumbling it beneath the din of the Christmas movie playing.

Diego steels himself by taking a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back and then standing more upright, lifting his head to face the conversation about to take place.

“I spoke to Klaus’ nurse today,” he says, walking around the couch to take a seat on the armchair adjacent to Eudora. She raises an eyebrow, urging him on. “She said that he’s making good progress; as long as he focuses on his physical therapy, she doesn’t see why he shouldn’t be able to get out soon.”

“That’s good,” she says, “but what’s the catch?”

Diego purses his lips and looks at his nails. There are still tiny traces of nail polish on his thumb from where he had used it to rub away excess from Klaus’ nails when painting them. It’s faint, but it’s there, and he thinks of Klaus’ face when he frowned and held up his shaking hand to reveal why he hadn’t painted his nails, and then he thinks of his face when Diego had been doing it for him.

“He’s, uh. He’s homeless, ‘Dora,” he states with a breath, leaning forwards. He places his elbows upon his knees and clasps his hands together to rest by his chin.

Eudora’s face twitches with understanding and she looks away, inhaling, and before she can speak Diego begins to.

“Look, I know we didn’t plan this, and we’re both busy as fuck, but he’s paralysed and he’s got nowhere to go – you’ve seen the weather. If he doesn’t come here, he’s just going to end up on the streets and – ‘Dora, he won’t – he won’t-“ He inhales, looks away and blinks. “H-he’ll die out there, by himself. He can’t live by himself; not right now.”

Eudora looks down at her hands, pursing her lips. Had Diego not known her, he might have been afraid of what she was about to say. But he knows Eudora, knows what she’s thinking, what she’s already decided.

“I know, Diego,” she says, voice soft. “I know. I don’t have a problem with him staying here, but you do understand that you have to think about yourself, too. I know it’s hard for him, but it won’t be easy to care for him all the time, either. We don’t even have a ramp up to our house.”

“I know,” Diego sighs, dragging his hands down his face while his eyes bounce towards the door. He knows; he had to walk up the stairs to get inside only minutes prior, stairs that he knew Klaus couldn’t get up. “But I’ll – I’ll figure something out before he comes. And we’ve had that empty room since we moved in – we can put a bed in there, or something, huh?”

Eudora blinks at Diego, expression thoughtful. Her eyes flick to the door of the aforementioned room. It was a small room, one Eudora had first envisioned of turning into a study or an office before but neither of them had actually gotten around to it and it now simply sat holding whatever junk they had yet to organise away. Diego could probably clean it up and put a bed in there within a day. He’d go eye the porch outside and figure out a way to make it accessible by a wheelchair and he’d probably be able to do it by himself for cheap.

Either way, he’d figure it out in the end because all he knows is that Klaus isn’t going onto the streets by himself. He won’t let it come to that; though it almost hurt to think that Klaus had just assumed that would be where he would land as soon as he left, and the fear in his eyes because, just as Diego knew, he too understand that his chances of surviving out there, especially with the brutal weather just now, were slim.

Whether it took him days or weeks, Diego would figure out how to get a ramp up to the house and he would get a bed in that room, get some better lights for it, too, and he’d figure out how to help Klaus.

He steeled himself to the idea. This wasn’t like any other time that Klaus had needed his help dodging a night on the streets in poor weather; his brother needed him here, now, and Diego had to do this for him. He would be there.

Eudora moves from the couch, instead choosing to lean on the armchair by Diego and reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“I’m off tomorrow,” she says. “I can go talk to some people, try and make some plans, huh?”

Diego lets Eudora slip her fingers between his, relaxing his grip and soothing his muscles. He lifts their entwined hands to rest his cheek against them, against hers, and he nods his head.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, soft.

She leans down, pressing her lips to the top of his head. “It’s nothing. Come on; it’s late and you’ve hardly eaten.”

And she tugs him away from the armchair towards the kitchen and Diego lets himself believe everything will go well, lets himself feel brave in the face of this new challenge with Eudora by his side, at this chance to, perhaps, rekindle that bond he and Klaus had once had years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diego really said; big brother mode


	9. Chapter 9

“Look at you, being manly.”

Diego looks up at the front door, watching Eudora lean against the doorframe with two mugs held in her hands and one of Diego’s shirts on. The sight makes him pause and she gives him a look, bare feet carrying her forwards so that she can set one mug of steaming coffee on the porch beside him.

“I’m always manly,” Diego defends, sitting back on his feet. Eudora quirks an eyebrow at him, humming, and she leans back against the wall. “Thank you,” he utters, reaching for the coffee and bringing it up to his mouth.

“How’s it going, then?”

He stares at the wood he’s been fitting over one half of the stairs leading up the porch. He wasn’t exactly the best with a hammer, but the previous night had been spent browsing hours worth of videos showing him how to do this. So far, it seemed to be working.

He stands up, legs groaning in protest, and then he steps down onto the ground and places one foot on the makeshift ramp, testing his weight with it. “It’s going,” he says, gesturing it vaguely up and down. “I still need to add a bit of wood on the edge so the wheelchair can’t go off the edge, and add some support, but I think it should be alright. I’m afraid it’ll be too steep for him to get up by himself,” he adds, pressing his lips together. He pushes down on the ramp again, feels the wood flex beneath him. He walks up it, then down it again; sips his coffee and sets it aside before crouching down and getting back to work.

“We’ll be able to test it out properly once he’s here,” Eudora offers, coming down and sitting on the stairs above him. Diego nods his head, fumbling to hold a long piece of wood in place and to line a nail up at the same time.

Eudora sets aside her coffee, reaching forwards to hold it in place for him.

“Any word on a bed?” He asks, looking up briefly from his task.

“I can get a mattress, but we need to figure out a bedframe. If we make it then we can have it lower for him – it might be easier for him to use, if you’re up for more building. The mattress is a double.”

Diego tips his head to the side in thought, lips pressed together. “Alright, sure,” he says.

“I can go get the mattress today,” Eudora continues. “I can stop by the shop and get some wood for it, too. Do you need anything for the ramp?”

Diego exhales slowly, looking it up and down. “This should be it,” he finally settles on. “Thanks.”

Eudora simply smiles at him and disappears inside to get changed. When she comes back outside, fishing her car keys from her purse, Diego reaches out to snatch her wrist, rising to his feet. His eyebrows raise at he looks at her.

“Hey, seriously. Thank you,” he says, and she sighs softly, shoulders slumping. One of her hands settle on his hips, finger running along the waistband of his pants.

“It’s nothing,” she says in response, her voice soft. Diego’s chest feels warm and he dips his head to press a gentle kiss to her lips. When she pulls back, she pats his chest. “You’re doing a good thing, okay? ‘Course I’m going to help. Drink your coffee before it gets cold.” She nods to the cup still set aside, pecks his cheek, and heads to the car.

Diego’s gaze falls to his coffee. With a sigh, he settles back down to take a quick sip before returning to the ramp.

###

It takes a couple of days to get the bedroom sorted.

Eudora, somehow, manages not to get a single splinter while helping him make the bed frame, while he constantly finds himself plucking out tiny spikes of wood from his fingers and palms. The frame holds the mattress, though, and both his and Eudora’s joint weight, and pillows and sheets soon follow it.

He goes through the entire house, checking the measurements of the doorways to ensure that a wheelchair can fit comfortably around the house. They have to spread the seats and coffee table a bit further in the living room and the kitchen itself might be a tight fit, but it works and that’s all Diego wants.

He had seen Klaus earlier in the day, though his brother had been tired from physio and kept dozing off.

The situation still dug under his skin. Seeing Klaus so helpless and vulnerable in the hospital threw him every time, as if he still struggled to make the relation between the reckless, party-animal Klaus and the one he saw in that hospital. It didn’t feel right, seeing Klaus look peaceful, and he wondered what that said about his brother; about all of his siblings, really. He was more accustomed to Klaus in skin-tight clothes, with messy hair and smudged makeup and bloodshot eyes, making insensitive jokes and jabs at people.

Buying him that eyeliner and nail polish had been just as reassuring for himself as it was for Klaus.

After seeing him, he had done another once-over of the ramp, now completed, and the bed frame, and the spacing between furniture, and then he had sat down in front of Eudora’s laptop to look up, as he had been doing a lot of lately, advice for this new situation.

The internet was surprisingly useful in this situation; with tutorials on how to make the ramp and the bed frame, and forums on discussing the transition for both himself and Klaus, the support. It helped to really drive home the gravity of the situation; offered Diego a chance to consider how Klaus was probably dealing with. Without it, too, Diego never would have even thought about having to put aids in the bathroom, too; it completely slipped his mind.

Thinking about it now, it was probably a good idea he did that. He hadn’t really processed what would happen after Klaus moved in with them; hadn’t considered the problems that will undoubtedly arise. It made him pause and reflect on the situation, though it inevitably led to him pissing Eudora off with how much pacing he was doing.

“Diego, come sit down-“

“Maybe this was a mistake,” he blurts, lips pressed together, staring at the distant laptop screen on the table. “I don’t know how to deal with this-“

“Diego,” Eudora tries again, turning to look at him from over the couch. “You’re panicking. Come sit down and talk to me.”

He makes a dismissive hand gesture. “I mean, there are places meant to help people, and I’m dragging you into this, too-“

“Diego-“

“And Klaus hardly even had a say in it, either, he might not even want to come here-“

“Diego-“

“And what if the ramp’s too steep for him to get up? He’ll-“

“ _Diego_!” Snaps Eudora, standing up and marching over to him. She reaches out, snatching his wrists and forcing him to stay in place. “You need to stop panicking. I’m happy to help – he’s your brother. He needs you to be there for him, and you always said you used to be close. He needs your help and I understand that. I’m fine with him coming here. If he didn’t want to come here, he would have suggested something else. Come on, come sit down.”

She tugs him towards the couches, coaxing him onto it, and then she reaches a hand out for the TV remote to turn the volume down before turning her attention back to Diego. His hands are still in hers.

“Of course it’s going to be hard. He’s going to be a mess, and rightly so. I can’t imagine being in his situation. But you’re his brother and he needs you, and I’m happy to see you able to talk to him again. I know you like seeing him without him being high as a kite or drunk in a gutter. It’s going to be okay – and the damn ramp is fine, Diego. We’ve tested it. It’s okay.”

Diego sighs heavily, eyes dancing away briefly. He forces himself to nod, letting her words sink in. He scrubs one hand down his face before resting it over hers again, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I know, it’s just – I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Eudora’s lips quirk slightly. “I know,” she hums. “But you’re trying, and that’s all you can do.”

“Maybe I should tell the others,” he murmurs, distracted. Eudora raises an eyebrow. “The others,” he repeats. “No one else knows about him. Luther – he’s probably doing shit with Dad, but Allison and Vanya. They don’t even know Klaus was in an accident.”

“Does Klaus want them to know?”

The question makes Diego pause. “I’ve not spoken to him about it,” he says, watching Eudora. “I doubt he does. He never likes talking about stuff like this.” A sigh tumbles off his lips once more. “But they deserve to know. I’ve not spoken to either of my sisters in a while, though. I don’t even know if I could get a hold of Allison easily.”

He was as happy as he could be that Allison seemed to be thriving out of the Academy, but he could never be sure of how much of her fame and success was truly legitimate and not caused by a whispered rumour beneath her breath. He wanted to be happy for her, but she’d taken to indulging her rumours a lot as they grew up, and he simply couldn’t entirely trust it. Harder to do so when he had tried to speak to her and had to argue his way through an agent first.

He and Vanya had never been close in the first place, though they’d met a few times since they both left the Academy, talking over coffee. Those meetings got fewer and farther between with time, and the conversations became more awkward, as if they were strangers rather than siblings. He never really had known Vanya, nor had Klaus.

“Maybe you should talk to him about it first,” Eudora says. “It’s his decision to make.”

Diego nods, head bobbing. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Of course you’re right,” he snorts, lips twitching. Eudora leans forwards, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and he melts into her; lets her hold him steady against her, his head tucked into the crook of her neck.

He can’t imagine doing this without her support, either, though he supposes there was always something about Eudora that pulled him in. Of course she would help; she was simply a good person.

###

He stops by Griddy’s on his way to visit Klaus again. Childhood memories flash at him and for a moment he can almost taste glazed donuts simply from stepping inside, can almost hear Allison and Ben giggling as Diego and Luther awkwardly hover over Klaus, clutching his stomach and looking queasy, fingers sticky from icing with patches staining his uniform that will give them away the next morning, though they won’t really care.

His lips twitch at the fond memory and his heart feels suddenly heavy with longing for a time like that again; for his family back.

When was the last time they were all together?

He does miss his family and how close they once had been as a childhood, but there are things that have happened that have ruined them irreparably.

He tries not to think of Five and Ben much these days. He simply hopes they have both found peace, wherever they are.

_(He tries not to think of Klaus, hands shaky, eyes red, claiming that Five is not dead, he knows Five isn’t dead. He tries not to think of Klaus, reeking of booze, pupil’s blown, stumbling over his own feet, laughing, “yeah, Ben! Because it’s fun! Have some fun, Ben! You’re with me now, aren’t you? Oh, Diego – imagine seeing you here! Ben says hi!”)_

He gets the donuts and the coffee and gets out of there.

Amy intercepts him on the way up to the bedroom. She greets him with a smile, taking him aside in the corridor.

“Is everything okay?” Diego asks instinctively, looking down the corridor in the direction of Klaus’ room.

“Everything’s perfectly fine,” she says. “I’m happy to be able to catch you, actually. I was wondering if you wanted to talk about Klaus being discharged soon.”

Diego’s eyes flick in the vague direction of his brother and he pauses. He’s been waiting for this, he thinks, been building up for this moment. He turns back to Amy, exhales softly, and nods.

###

Klaus makes an excited noise upon seeing the goodies Diego has brought with him. He shoves himself up slightly in bed, arms shaky, and moves his colouring book from his table to make space for the donuts and coffee.

“N-nice,” Klaus says, eyes trained on the food. Diego smiles encouragingly at him, as he’s learned to do when Klaus not only manages to speak but willingly does so in front of Diego, and he sits down.

“Help yourself, bro,” he says, and sips his own coffee. Klaus certainly does; he leans forwards with shaky hands, plucking out a glazed donut and nibbling on it. “Amy help with the eyeliner?” He asks, noticing the smudged shadow around his eyes.

Klaus nods his head, one hand lifted to gently touch beneath his eyes with the pads of his fingertips. Then he turns his attention to his coffee, eyes bouncing to him and he raises his eyebrows, as if waiting for Diego to pick up a conversation.

“Klaus,” he says, voice lifted over the sound of his brother stirring his iced coffee. “What do you think of getting out of here?”

Klaus blinks, head tipping to the side. His gaze bounces from Diego to nothing in particular and his eyebrows raise slightly; his lips purse around his straw and he pauses. Then he looks back to Diego, expression slightly conflicted, eyes wary, and then he nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know what you thought!


	10. Chapter 10

Klaus holds his few belongings in a bag on his lap once transferred from his bed to his wheelchair. He still hates the thing; hates sitting in it, hates being moved about in it, hates trying to move himself in it, but he’s accepted that there is, quite literally, nothing else he can do.

His body thrums with anxiety as Amy guides him down the corridor, doctors and visitors stepping out of their way for them. Although he knows better, part of him still fears that Diego isn’t going to be waiting for him and Amy is going to take him outside and leave him alone on the pavement, lap full of nail polish and colouring pens.

“As much as I’ll miss you, it’s good to see you getting out,” Amy tells him, and he lifts his gaze up to look at her, lips twitching.

“Thank y-you,” he murmurs, voice soft, and Amy beams at him.

“It’s a nice day, too. Maybe that’s a sign.”

Klaus snorts softly, bobbing his head and looking forwards. Although the idea of leaving here makes his hands shake with anxiety, he is desperate to see something else; decorated walls, or clear skies, and carpets. Something other than sterile, impersonal white.

Amy makes quiet chatter as she guides him down the hall, occasionally in reference to moving forwards, though they had already had such a conversation before; addressing his concerns and worries he might have, discussing at-home care, further check-ups if necessary, working with another person to help plan his discharge.

He and Ben don’t talk about it, but the mention of being prescribed medication relieves a larger part of his anxiety than he’d probably like to mention. He struggles to imagine talking to a dealer in his situation, and he isn’t entirely sure how he’d truly manage to deal with the ghosts, physically unable to run from them.

His hands mess with the belongings on his lap idly, running his fingertips over the nail polish and the eyeliner. He doesn’t quite lift his head when they come out onto the lobby, still hesitant to face the possibility of Diego running away from taking Klaus on as a burden, but then he hears footsteps and sees boots appear in his vision a few feet from him, and when he looks up Diego is there.

“Great to see you out of bed,” he comments, and he does look a little relieved, as if seeing Klaus in a wheelchair is any better, and then he looks up at Amy. “Let’s get this show on the road, what do I need to do?”

Klaus lets them talk; zoning out and looking around the hospital, at the tired doctors and the anxious visitors, the queasy-looking man bracing himself in one chair, the little girl swinging her legs over the edge of her chair and looking oblivious. Ben hovers by his side, attention bouncing between Klaus and Diego and Amy.

Diego takes his prescriptions, skimming over them. He seems to puff up a little at the idea of taking responsibility for Klaus; nodding his head, agreeing to all of the at-home care needed, readily tackling all of Amy’s concerns for him.

And then they’re gone.

Amy says a genuine goodbye, wishing her best, and Klaus thinks that he’ll miss her. Diego places his hands on the push-handles and Klaus startles slightly when they finally begin to move towards the doors, outside.

His lips twitch upwards into a lazy smirk. “Remem-member, I got alc-alcohol p-poisoning – you had to w-wheel me out?” It takes an infuriating amount of time for him to stumble through the sentence, but he doesn’t stop and give up, and neither Diego or Ben poke fun at him for it – not that he expected them to, though he can’t say his self-loathing levels hadn’t skyrocketed since the accident.

Diego scoffs. “Yeah, I do, because you threw up all over the backseat.”

“H-happen again.”

“It better not,” Diego scowls. Klaus doesn’t respond; simply sits back, lips still in a lazy smirk, and turns his face into the sun. There is a chill in the air that seeps into his skin, but it is refreshing and welcome compared to the stuffy air of the hospital room.

Diego takes him up to the passenger side of his car, taking the things off his lap and putting them in the backseat. Klaus quirks an eyebrow, eyes bouncing between the car and Diego. There is a hint of bitterness in his face as he looks between them, as if trying to prove the point that Diego taking him on is a mistake; that it is a ton of hassle that he doesn’t truly want. How is he even supposed to get him in the car?

He could just leave Diego to try and figure it out by himself, if he wanted, to drive home his point, though he had practised transfers with the physical therapists. He leans forwards, gesturing at the car seat.

“M-move it back,” he says with a sigh, and Diego does; sliding the chair as far back as it can go. Klaus inches himself closer to the car, as close as he can, and then fumbles to find the brakes for the wheelchair. His hands hook under his knees, pulling his feet off the footrest, ignoring the disturbing feel of how limp his legs are.

He bends down, fumbling to move the footrests aside, and Ben points at the bit he was forgetting to do to move it. He shoves himself back upright, exhales, and then he turns to Diego.

“Y-you’re gonna ha-have to lift-“

Diego nods his head, slipping between the space between Klaus and the car door, and Klaus lifts his arms to let Diego hook his arms beneath his.

“Watch your head,” Diego says, and he ducks it down. He resists the urge to twist his fingers in Diego’s jumper and clutch onto him, afraid he might fall, but Diego lowers him onto the chair slowly. Klaus is tempted to ask him if he’s been practising, but he can’t find it in himself to try and speak again.

He slumps against the seat, arms dropping from around Diego, and then he exhales shakily. A little roughly, he pulls his legs into the car, and watches Diego crouch outside. He folds up the footrest, takes the wheels off, and moves it around to the trunk. In the mirror he can still see Diego folding the wheelchair and putting it in the trunk.

He cranes his head to look at Ben in the backseat, exchanging a look.

“He’s been practising,” Ben muses, and Klaus looks down at his hands. He tries not to imagine Diego sitting at home over a computer, watching videos on how to do that, or talking to Amy and trying to figure out how to help; throwing himself whole-heartedly into this, just for Klaus.

Diego sits down in the driver’s seat. “Okay, we just have to go get those prescriptions and we can go back home, right?”

Klaus nods his head and Diego drives out. He leans his head against the window, watching buildings and people go by, and he waits inside as Diego gets his prescriptions too. He holds them on his lap, fingers messing with the paper bag they reside in, and he turns his gaze forwards and watches the road.

The car seems to just eat up the road beneath it, wheels rumbling and engine purring, and Diego cracks the window open a little to let a draft in. The sound of the wheels on the road amplifies and his heart begins to beat faster with sudden fear. He looks from the hanging traffic lights and to Diego, and from the window by his brother’s side, he sees a car. He makes a strangled noise, hitting his head as he flinches back in the seat, braced for a sudden impact; the feel of something digging into his stomach followed by nothing at all but roaring wind.

“Klaus? Bro, you alright? Klaus?”

He blinks away images of blurred buildings and dazzling headlights, focusing on the feel of paper beneath his fingers, of the sun instead of a dark night's sky.

“C-class – c-close the-the window,” Klaus rasps, twisting his fingers in his shirt and exhaling shakily.

Diego hurries to close his window, cutting off the sound of the wind. His eyes dash between the road and Klaus. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Klaus nods, closing his eyes. He hadn’t remembered anything about the accident, but the sound of being in a car again must have triggered his memory somewhat. Even now, the visual memory that had suddenly come to him was already fading, leaving him with his nerves alight, anticipating an impact.

Diego keeps giving him concerned looks, his eyebrows pinched, lips pursed. Klaus just keeps his gaze on his lap, afraid of what might happen again if he looks out the window.

The car slows, finally coming to a halt, and Diego finally turns around to look at him. “Seriously, Klaus, what happened?”

He lifts a hand to scratch at his ear, glancing to the window. “Ah, I just – the c-car,” he stammers, fingers twitching. He grabs his prescription, shoves the car door open and looks out at the driveway. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth with lingering panic and he struggles to push words out of his mouth. He doesn’t have to.

“Thought we were going to crash?” Diego asks, voice irritatingly soft, and Klaus presses his lips together and nods tensely. He softens slightly, gaze flicking away. Before he can make an attempt at comforting him though, Klaus clears his throat.

“Can go – we go in?”

Diego nods. “I’ll get the chair, one sec.”

He hears the trunk open and hears Diego fumble to put the chair back together and when he finally brings it forwards, Klaus has to stop himself from glaring daggers at it. He uses his hands to pull himself to the edge of his seat, then lifts his legs over the edge of the car. Diego steps forwards like before, bracing his arms beneath him, and lifts him. Klaus clings on until he feels his back rest against the chair and he hesitantly lets go, moving his hands from Diego’s back and to the arms of the chair. Diego moves his feet onto the footrest, then ducks back into the car to retrieve everything.

Klaus reaches out to hold some of it on his lap, and then Diego goes behind him, and begins to wheel him forwards and towards the porch. Klaus wonders how he intends to get them up there before he notices the ramp, and he closes his mouth.

Diego knows how to fold and unfold the wheelchair, and the ramp is obviously DIY and new. It holds him and Diego easily guides him up it. Klaus feels something warm bubble up in his chest again.

“We have a bedroom for you,” Diego says, fumbling with his keys for the front door. “It’s not the most exciting like you’d probably like, but it’s your own.”

Klaus hums, watches him slide the key in the lock and twist. “T-thanks,” he murmurs, and Diego pauses, looking back at him. His lips twitch upwards and he looks down again.

“No problem, bro.”

The smell of food – real, fresh food, unlike the stuff in the hospital – hits him as Diego guides him inside the house. He blinks, looking around the house and taking it all in.

It is entirely refreshing to see compared to the hospital. It is decorated warmly, all organised and neat, and heat blossoms from the kitchen. He turns to look there and sees a vaguely-familiar woman standing there, picking at a dish of macaroni. She turns as he and Diego enter, and she offers a smile.

“Klaus, this is Eudora,” Diego says, a natural smile on his lips as he looks at her. “My girlfriend.”

Klaus lets out a knowing noise, then lifts a hand and awkwardly waves at Eudora.

“I’ve made some dinner, help yourselves. I assumed you'd want something other than hospital food and that you'd both be a bit tired. If you’ve got any food preferences, Klaus, just let either me or Diego know,” she says, and Diego guides Klaus through the living room and towards the kitchen. There is a small, round dining table, and he lines Klaus up with it and then busies himself getting food for both himself and Klaus.

He turns to Eudora, watching her settle into a chair, and he suddenly feels awkward. There is no rush of confidence or lack of embarrassment that comes from liquor and drugs, and he suddenly realises how unlike himself he feels without his highs.

Instead of saying what he had planned, he closes his mouth and watches Diego slide a dish of macaroni in front of him. He stares down at it, tries to remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal like this.

“T-thank you,” he utters, reaching for the fork. His hands are still shaky and clumsy, still uncoordinated, though they are much better now than they had been when he first woke up. He picks at his food, feeling awkward and out of place.

“That door is to your bedroom,” Diego says, pointing at one door. “That one’s for the bathroom. That’s me and ‘Dora’s room. If you need anything, you can just yell for either one of us.”

Klaus hesitates, freezing, and lets his gaze slide between his brother and Eudora. He nods, offering a shy smile, and turns back to the food.

“I think she’s arrested you before,” Ben comments absently, scrutinises Eudora. Klaus gives him a look, eyebrows quirked. Ben simply shrugs. “She just sounds familiar. Plus – police woman, that’s right up Diego’s alley.”

Klaus hums softly at that and when Diego looks at him, he just clears his throat. “I, uh, I t-think I just want she-sleep,” he says, setting down his fork and reaching down for his wheels. He pauses, looks between them both, then swallows. “Thanks.”

Diego goes to stand up to help him, but Klaus manages to guide himself away from the table and towards the door his brother had pointed out before. He reaches up to nudge it open and then pauses in the doorway to look inside.

The bed frame is evidently DIY, like the ramp outside, and the emotions swelling up in his chest are overwhelming. Having Diego help him in and out of the car, the home-cooked meal, the hand-made ramp and bed frame just for him. Having his brother back in his life, genuinely, and the mess of emotions every time he touches his legs and feels nothing. It is all overwhelming and makes his eyes burn.

So he crawls up onto the bed, dragging his legs up onto it and hiding them beneath the thick covers as if repulsed by the sight of his useless limbs, and then he turns over and screws his eyes shut and tries not to think about sleeping inside when the wind howls against the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eudora/Diego are the only valid hetero couple I'll write


	11. Chapter 11

Sleep is still blissfully devoid of any nightmares of ghosts, and he assumes that it must be a result of his body still exhausting itself in some state of self-repair and the meds he is on. He has no complaints about it; he’s eager to sleep away the day. If he doesn’t move in his brief moments of consciousness, he can pretend that he is perfectly fine; that he is simply having a lazy day in and that, if he chose to, he could move, but he is simply choosing not to.

He can hear Diego and his girlfriend going about their house, talking, watching TV, cleaning the kitchen; living their lives like usual, and Klaus stares at the room, dimly lit with the bedside lamp still on. The windows are open but it is dark outside, and he can see the glimmer of streetlights, the headlights of the occasional passing car.

Despite having slept a full night, he feels exhausted. He feels as if his head weighs a ton; the simple movement of lifting it off the pillow seems too much to do. He does little more than stare at the wall opposite him, or stare out the window, or close his eyes and listen to passing cars outside and his brother and his girlfriend wandering around their house.

What is he supposed to do, anyway? His life the past few weeks – months – has consisted of lying in bed and needing help to do the most basic of things. This is no different.

He appreciates Diego taking him in. Of course he does. It has been a long time since he had properly spoken to his brother and their relationship had been only getting worse and worse and Klaus, truly, had been expecting Diego to permanently expel him from his life any day. It is nice to have his brother back, to have his care and concern. It is almost like when they were children, before things began to crumble apart.

Diego bringing him into his home with his partner is a tremendous step for him, and Klaus acknowledges it. However, he can’t help but feel out of place; a bit like an intruder. Especially as he listens to Diego and Eudora busy themselves with their normal life. He isn’t supposed to be in this kind of scene and he would feel just as uncomfortable before the accident. At least before he could have left.

He doesn’t know what time it is, but at some point it begins to get light outside the window, brightening the room more, and then there is a knock at the door before it cracks open.

“Hey, bro, you awake?” Diego asks, stepping in. Klaus keeps his gaze on the window, debating just closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep so that Diego will leave him alone. He doesn’t feel as if he has the energy to talk to anyone today; has ignored Ben’s attempts at conversation, too.

He does end up closing his eyes when Diego keeps coming closer. He hears something set down on the nightstand beside the bed and then Diego places a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “Hey, Klaus, wake up. You need to take your medicine and come eat something.”

Begrudgingly, Klaus peels his eyes open again, blinking Diego’s hovering face into clarity. His brother shifts slightly to give him a clear view of the glass of water and pills set on the nightstand. “Eudora’s got work today so it’s just you and me until she gets back. We made scrambled eggs for breakfast; could probably chuck on some bacon, too, if you want some – I know you like it, but Amy said you might still prefer light food for your stomach-“

“I-I’m fa-fine,” Klaus mutters. He shoves himself upright, pulls himself closer to the edge of the mattress and reaches for the pills and the water, hurrying to take them and set the water back down. He slips back down into the bed, pulling the covers back over himself, and he fists a hand in his sweatpants to tug his hips around with him.

“Bro,” sighs Diego, sounding exasperated. “You’ve got to eat.”

“N-not hungry,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

“Amy said it’s important you eat, bro. You’ve got to keep your strength up-“

“F-for what?” Klaus bites. “To wa- _walk_?” He lets out a bitter laugh at that, sharp and cold, and then his face falls flat once more and he glares sourly at the wall in front of him.

“To not have your noodle arms collapse when you try to sit up, dickhead,” Diego says, and Klaus flips him off over his shoulder. “Look, I’ll bring a plate in here for you, alright?”

When Klaus doesn’t respond again, Diego gets up and walks out. It only takes him a couple of minutes to return, bringing with him the smell of eggs and bacon. He sets the plate down on the nightstand beside his water and then hovers at his bedside. “I’ll check in on you again,” he says, and waits for a response Klaus isn’t going to give him. With an audible sigh, Diego leaves the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“You should eat,” Ben pipes up, walking around the bed to stand in front of him. Klaus glares at that, then looks elsewhere, but Ben just walks right back into his line of sight and Klaus can’t will his body to turn over once more. “Diego used to cook with Grace – it’s probably not that bad.”

Klaus stares through him, mouth shut in a firm line. He doesn’t care.

Ben crouches down to make eye contact with him. “Say something, Klaus.”

Klaus tugs his hand heavily from underneath his blankets and flips Ben off. His brother rolls his eyes, unfazed. “At least sit up and eat just a little bit, Klaus. Drink some water.”

Klaus keeps his middle finger up. Ben gives him an exasperated look. “Get up, Klaus.”

“I – I’m p-p – _paralysed_ , d-dickhe-head.”

Ben purses his lips. “You know what I mean, Klaus. Sit up.”

Klaus rolls his eyes at Ben. Nonetheless, if only to make Ben shut up, Klaus pushes himself up with his hands to lean back against the headboard. He lolls his head to the side to look at the breakfast Diego brought him. He wills his hands to reach out for it, but they feel so heavy and he can’t actually bring himself to move. He stares at it as if it might somehow float onto his lap and he zones out once more.

With a sigh, he turns his gaze away from the food and to his lap covered in blankets. He knows he can’t stay in this bed forever. He’ll need to use the bathroom, he’ll need to bathe; Diego will likely continue to try and force him to come out and stay in the living room; hang around him and Eudora as if nothing has changed.

It almost makes him angry. The drugs, the years of lies, the fact that he cannot walk and never will again; how is he supposed to live pretending nothing has happened? As if everything is perfectly fine?

He shoves the blankets off his lap to look at his legs, staring down at them. He runs his hand down his thigh, digging his fingers in and willing himself to feel something. Of course, it never works. He feels not a single thing. He moves phantom limbs and his real legs stay utterly still unless he curls his fingers in his sweatpants and forcibly moves them.

He wants a bath. He wants to walk to the bath. He wants to walk outside, stretch his legs and then run as fast as they can take him.

He turns his head, letting his hands go limp on his thighs, and he eyes the food Diego had brought him. He finds that he truly has no appetite, and so he turns away from it again. He slips down the mattress to rest his head on the pillow, rolls onto his side, and closes his eyes.

###

“Hey, bro – you didn’t even touch breakfast?”

Klaus peels his eyes open as Diego comes into the room and right up to his bedside, eying the untouched food he had brought in earlier. Klaus doesn’t respond; still can’t dredge up the energy or motivation to make his tongue work, especially when he remembers that his words will be stammered and slurred and not the right words he was looking for anyway. What is the point in talking when it is almost incomprehensible anyway?

“Come on, Klaus, talk to me,” Diego says, and mustn’t he understand? If anyone would understand, it ought to be Diego; the way he would say words, but somewhere between his teeth and his lips the word got lost, or it twisted itself up into something else, or his tongue slipped and it came out flat and other sounds slipped in or the word didn’t come out at all. Diego should understand that, what with his own stutter that he always struggled with during his childhood and teenage years. Klaus knows he had spent many hours with Grace helping him stumble his way through a word. Diego knows what the frustration is like when he stammers and people stare with pity, or impatience, and how it slips in at the worst moments and comes back to haunt him when he’s been free of it for a long time.

It’s ironic that Klaus used to poke fun at it during their arguments, and now he can’t talk himself. Fitting karma for it.

Diego sighs, quiet behind him for several moments. “You should get out of bed,” he finally says. “I’ll run a bath for you, yeah? Sit up.”

Klaus listens to his brother leave, stifling a groan. Diego’s persistence at trying to talk to him or getting him to do something digs underneath his skin and he can’t dig up the energy to get out of bed. He just wants to be left alone, and if he could find the energy to yell at Diego, he would have by now.

By the time Diego comes back to the room, Klaus still isn’t sitting up. He sighs audibly in the doorway and comes to his side, reaches down and yanks the blankets off of him. Klaus groans in irritation, turning away from Diego and covering his face with his hands. When Diego puts his hand on Klaus’ arm, he shoves it off.

“Don’t be like that,” Diego sighs, nudging him again. “You need to get up, Klaus, you can’t just spend all day in bed. I ran a bath for you.”

“W-watch me,” Klaus growls out, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the wall opposite him. Diego gives him a look.

“Klaus-“

“W-what are you-you gonna d-do? D-drag me?” Klaus retorts, glaring at Diego. He holds his arms out, eyebrows raised. “I ca-can’t-“ He begins, and the last word gets stuck on his lips. They quiver around the sound of the next word and when he finally manages to get it out, he spits it with venom; “ _move_.”

Diego softens slightly like he always does whenever he sees Klaus struggle with his speech, that irritating way he in which his eyes soften and his shoulders slump. “Klaus, c’mon,” he utters. He opens his mouth to continue speaking, to say something else that might be horrifically gentle, and so Klaus interrupts him with a noise, a wave, and shuffles to the edge of his bed. He pulls his legs over the edge, reaches out to grab his wheelchair and tug it right up to his side. He exhales, braces himself, and struggles to transfer himself from the bed to the chair before Diego can get to him and help him. He sets his feet on the rest, takes off the break, and then turns it tightly to go towards the door without so much as another glance at Diego.

He remembers the way to the bathroom and makes his way there himself, sliding himself up to the steaming bathtub and putting the break on. He stares at the tub. Diego has put some bubble mix in it for him. The gesture just digs under his skin even further, especially when his brother follows him into the bathroom.

Still refusing to look at him, Klaus tugs his jumper over his head, struggling to pull his arms out with his still-uncoordinated limbs and movement, and then he drops it on the floor. He tugs off his socks, drops them there, and then hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and tries to tug them down.

He can’t get them further than his hips, though, and he can’t lift his hips to help. He tries to use one hand to lift himself up with the chair’s arm, the other hand trying to tug his clothes down, but he is still too weak to support himself with one hand and he just collapses back onto the chair, unable to stop himself from making a frustrated noise.

He knows he is just working himself up. He is in a bad mood and easy to irritate or upset, and he’s only lashing out at whoever he can – Diego, Ben, himself, and if Eudora were here then he would lash out at her too – and just making himself even more frustrated and distressed and emotional, but he can’t stop himself from trying to make a point to Diego, even if he doesn’t even know what the point is that he is trying to make.

“Hey,” says Diego, coming close. “If you can hold yourself up, I’ll get the sweatpants.”

Klaus glares tearfully up at him, and then covers his crotch with one hand. Diego gives him a look. “I’m not going to look, idiot. Have you got a better idea?”

Klaus exhales, presses his lips together. He hates needing Diego’s help. He tries to put his old façade back on, tries to act as if his own nudity is more embarrassing for Diego than himself – he had long since given up shame, knowing that all of his siblings had seen him in all kinds of messes thanks to drugs and alcohol the few times he had seen them after the Academy – but he knows, now, it isn’t. He feels utterly humiliated; vulnerable and helpless, having to have his brother help undress him, help him get into a damn bathtub.

He keeps his gaze away from Diego when he holds himself up on shaky arms, allowing his brother to finally offer some help and take off the remainder of his clothes. He sets them aside, lingering with his head tilted away, as if nothing about this situation is wrong or humiliating or painful, until Klaus inhales deeply, slaps his wrist, and jerks his head at the bathtub.

Diego helps move him to sit on the edge of the porcelain tub, and Klaus dips his hand into the water to check the temperature before lifting his legs over the edge and into the water. One of Diego’s hands hover over his back, but Klaus is able to lower himself into the tub without his help. He settles back against it, using his hands to stretch his legs out comfortably.

Diego still lingers for a couple of moments. “If you need me, or need anything, just yell. I’ll check on you again soon; just try and relax, yeah?”

Klaus stares at the wall opposite him until Diego walks out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. When he is gone, Klaus exhales shakily, bringing his hands out of the water to run through his hair. He ponders the odd sensation of hot water tingling his body and the way his legs seem to not exist at all. It feels as if his hips and below might as well not be there at all; they are just some inconvenient weight that gets in the way and drags him down. Why should they be there at all when he’ll never be able to use his legs again?

He knows, realistically, that he would much rather his legs be there and simply paralysed than having the trauma of them both being amputated, but it is hard not to slip carelessly down a violent slide of self-destructive thoughts in this situation.

He doesn’t feel any better in the bath. Getting out of bed has only really made him feel worse as he confronts the struggles he will be dealing with for the rest of his life and, for the foreseeable future, how reliant on others help he will be. Someone could take his wheelchair away and the door of the room he is in and he would be trapped until they wanted to let him out.

He’ll need Diego’s help to get out of the bathtub again, to get changed again. Maybe Diego will shuck him off to some facility that will deal with him when he finally gets fed up of Klaus’ helplessness and weakness and he will spend the rest of his life stuck in the same building, being cared for by unenthusiastic volunteer teenagers and falsely positive nurses, or maybe he’ll just be forgotten about in a bed somewhere, left to rot by himself and unable to do anything about it.

Reginald would probably find it funny. Maybe it’d get a laugh out of the cold-hearted, sadistic bastard. Seeing his pathetic Number Four so weak and victim to his own carelessness and his reckless lifestyle. Karma, Reginald would say; he had brought it upon himself. And he’d be right, probably.

Pitching against the wall, Klaus covers his face with his hands, and his shoulders begin to tremble as he begins to cry. He can’t stop himself from it; his shoulders hunch in on himself and suddenly he is sobbing, struggling to breathe through each cry.

He feels utterly helpless and hopeless, completely miserable. He feels as if his entire life has been irreparably ruined and all by his own stupidity, and it hurts to know that he has brought all of this on himself. There is no one to blame for his struggles other than himself.

He can’t help but let his mind wander over every little thing; every little struggle, every doubt, every fear he has. He can’t help but go over every simple task he has done a million times before and should so easily be able to still do, and how he simply cannot, and he can’t help the overwhelming frustration and distress bubble over in the form of ragged sobs and burning tears.

Klaus hears a distant screech of tires echo in his ears and he sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone give him a hug :(


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: discussions of depression/depression in itself.

It is odd, living with Eudora and Diego.

They are kind with him, and it is obvious that they have done so much to this house to accommodate him and his new situation; there are obvious paths between furniture that can fit a wheelchair, there are support bars in the bathroom for him, and of course the ramp by the door, although since he has arrived he has not left again. He does appreciate all of this, of course, but Klaus just wishes he didn’t need any of it; of course he wished that.

His body is still weak from the accident, his balance and coordination poor, and he knows the support bars like those in the bathroom are a great help, and will be more so once he actually builds back some strength and coordination. The physical therapy in the hospital helped him do this, as well as other ways to keep his legs and hips from getting all stiff, and it helped him learn how to actually transfer from the wheelchair to another surface, but despite this he still needs Diego’s help with just about everything.

He knows Diego is trying his best to be there for him and that he doesn’t have a problem with Klaus needing his help; but _Klaus_ has a problem with needing his help. He shouldn’t need his brother’s help just to take a piss, but here he is.

It isn’t a case of being embarrassed at the idea of his brother seeing him naked, or nearly-naked – god knows Diego is probably numb to that now after the many times he has crashed with him and has taken off his clothes, lost them, or never had them in the first place somehow, too out of it to notice or care, so Klaus doesn’t care about that, really, but this sense of helplessness and uselessness that digs under his skin like maggots on a corpse. It’s the fact that it isn’t even just occasionally that he needs help; it’s every god damn time. And when no one else is in the house, off at work, then it takes Klaus double or triple the time to do anything by himself. At least he isn’t often in the house by himself; Eudora and Diego do their best to schedule themselves so if Klaus is alone, it isn’t for too long.

There’s also an odd sense of vulnerability that Klaus has never had before; that same vulnerability he felt during any physical therapy sessions in the hospital. If something were to happen, he would be completely unable to do anything. If there was a fire, or if he fell, or if someone broke in; Klaus could do absolutely nothing. If someone were to hurt him, he just couldn’t do a thing. Anyone could do anything to him and he would be helpless, and that scares him.

He knows neither Eudora or Diego would ever do anything to him or bring anyone home that would do that, but the fact remains that they _could_. Anyone could.

Had Klaus not been so engrossed in his cycle of varying depressing thoughts, he might enjoy living inside a bit more. He is almost getting used to it; living inside a house is almost his new normal now, compared to his previous ‘normal’ being cold, damp streets. It’s nice, having somewhere warm and comfortable to sleep, and being able to bathe regularly, and eat regularly too. The positives are simply greatly outweighed by the negatives.

That doesn’t stop Diego from trying to be horrifically optimistic. Which, well; by normal standards, that still isn’t that optimistic, but by Diego’s standards it is almost scary. Diego has not yelled at him once; not properly argued with him at all since he came here. It’s certainly a new record for how long they’ve gone without arguing with one another.

Diego wakes him up that morning like always, opening the curtains and saying that they have scrambled eggs for breakfast and that Klaus can either join him and Eudora at the dining table or Diego can bring the food through her for him. Klaus, very reluctantly, sits up a little, his eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion. Diego brings him medication for a migraine that he doesn’t have along with the pain (that he does have) in his back, which is just enough to keep the ghosts at bay. He helps him to the bathroom, helps him change, and then, reluctantly, Klaus sits by the dining table with both Diego and Eudora and moves scrambled eggs around his plate in disinterest, ignoring Ben who tuts about how he needs to be eating more.

Afterwards, Klaus goes back to his bedroom to ignore Diego’s frown at how little he’s touched his breakfast, and he lays in bed and closes his eyes and sometimes he falls asleep; sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes Eudora is home, sometimes Diego is home, sometimes neither of them are home. Sometimes there are ghosts, so Klaus clamps his hands over his ears, and if anyone is home then he might ask for more painkillers and if he is alone then he might even go out and try to find them himself, or he might just try and ignore them.

There is dinner, and Eudora and Diego talk about the police Academy, and Klaus stays silent and doesn’t give real responses if either of them try to talk to him. Then he goes back to his bedroom, and he sleeps, or he doesn’t, and then Diego wakes him up in the morning and it starts again.

Honestly, he isn’t sure how many days are spent like that. Long enough to make Ben visibly concerned and make Eudora and Diego talk in hushed voices outside his bedroom door. Not that Klaus cares; he doesn’t bother trying to eavesdrop. He knows they are talking about him, but of course they are. He doesn’t care.

It’s a little disorienting, the way the days bleed into one another and somehow seem to never end and yet also pass by with a single blink, but Klaus is not new to being disoriented and losing track of time, so he doesn’t worry about it. Only, typically, that happened due to the drugs in his system, and now he’s virtually sober.

He is somewhat content to just let life pass him by like this, but he isn’t particularly surprised when Diego comes into his bedroom one night. His hair is damp from a shower and he’s wearing sweatpants and a jumper; he’s been out at the police academy all day. He’s been talking to Eudora in hushed voices again and he’s taken up an anxious air about him recently.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly, closing the door behind him. Klaus keeps his gaze on the cream coloured wall opposite him, the same spot he’s been staring at for the past however-long. “You okay?”

Of course he’s not okay, and he knows Diego knows this, so he doesn’t bother answering such a stupid question with an answer they both already know. His brother sighs, nodding. “Stupid question, I guess,” he mutters. He lingers, and Klaus wonders vaguely what he’s building up to saying; wonders if he might give up and just leave (hopes he will) but, much to his dismay, Diego comes and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Eudora and I’ve been talking,” he says, pausing to look for a reaction from Klaus. “And, uh, we spoke to Amy at the hospital recently, actually.” Again, there’s another pause. Amy’s name grabs his interest but not enough to make him really care. Diego sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“We were thinking that maybe – maybe you could talk to someone. Like, a – a therapist, or something. I think it’d be good for you.”

Klaus blinks, letting the words sink into his mind. Therapy. He’s needed therapy for as long as he can remember; it’s a bit late to start now, he thinks. If anything, It feels a bit like an insult to suggest it now. Would he go talk to a therapist to deal with his paralysis and then end up talking about how his first word had been ‘ _help’_ because it’s the thing he heard most growing up, screamed at him by grisly corpses that tripped over their own intestines in their haste to stalk him?

“We should have thought about it sooner, I guess, but you’ve just – you’ve just not been right, recently-“

Klaus’ eyes snap to Diego, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. He’s not been ‘right’ for a long damn time at this rate. Not since he got in that damn car months ago and woke up in a hospital bed.

Diego composes himself a little, swallowing. “It’s – it could help you process it, and Amy said it’s normal if you’re feeling – uh. Depressed, so-“

“I’m not du-depressed,” Klaus snaps weakly, which is perhaps the worst lie he’s ever told. Diego gives him a look, but it is surprisingly not a taunting one, but instead a horrifically pitying one.

“You’ve not been yourself for a while, bro,” he says, “and I’m – I’m worried. We all are. You can’t keep going on like this.”

Klaus huffs, and maybe he is only proving Diego’s point by not even arguing back; he simply looks back at the wall with a hard glare and closes his mouth. The bed creaks as Diego shuffles a little closer.

“Klaus, come on, talk to me-“

“What do you w-want me to say?” Klaus hisses. He’s been way too easy to irritate lately and he can’t quite be bothered trying to stop himself from lashing out at Diego. If he does it enough then perhaps his brother will get the hint and just leave him alone for once.

“I know it’s – hard,” says Diego, and Klaus rolls his eyes. “But you can’t just – give up-“

“Should I walk instead?”

“ _Klaus_ \- please.”

“I’m not going to therapy,” he growls. “You can’t make me.”

Only, if Diego were so determined, he _could_. Not like Klaus could put up much of a fight if Diego just shoved him into the wheelchair and whisked him off to some therapist’s office. But Diego wouldn’t do that. (He has to remind himself that a few times.)

“This isn’t healthy-“

“Yeah, it’s called being pa- _paralysed_.”

“Staying in bed all day, every day, and not talking-“

“I’ve got nothing to say-“

“ _Fucksake_ , Klaus, I just want you to be okay,” Diego says, tone sharper than before, and it makes Klaus pause and stare at his brother before he can compose himself again. “Why won’t you even try?”

That isn’t something new with Klaus, he thinks. Diego shouldn’t be so damn surprised; Klaus never tried with rehab.

“It doesn’t matter,” Klaus says. “It won’t do anything! It duh-doesn’t m-matter!”

“It might not help you walk again,” Klaus flinches at the words, the truth, “but it doesn’t mean you have to just – give up on everything.”

“Go away,” he says, glaring at his brother. Diego shakes his head.

“I’m not leaving, Klaus-“

“Go away,” he repeats, harsher, and he shoves at Diego’s arm, but Diego doesn’t budge.

“No, Klaus, we need to talk-“

“Leave me alone!” He shoves harder at him; keeps doing it until Diego has to grab his wrists and hold them away. Klaus isn’t strong enough to actually shove him, but he can keep doing it until it annoys him. He yanks his hands back, but he can’t break Diego’s grip on his wrists, and suddenly he’s – scared. “Fuck off,” he hisses, almost tipping over in bed with his poor balance and his attempts to get away from Diego.

“I’m not leaving you alone right now, Klaus-“

And Klaus can’t make him. Klaus can’t do anything. He’s stuck in his bed, and he can’t even make Diego let go of him, can’t make him leave him alone; can’t do a single. It’s not like Diego is trying to hurt him or overpower him; he knows that, but this irrational fear of his own vulnerability bubbles up rapidly within himself and then he is shaking his head. “ _Diego_ ,” he says, more pleading now, “ _please_ , leave me alone, I want to be alone, please, let me go-“

Diego seems to notice the shift in his tone and he actually looks at how he’s holding Klaus’ wrists and then he lets go abruptly, as if only noticing he was holding him just then. “Klaus,” he says, gentle, “I didn’t mean – I didn’t mean that-“

He inhales shakily, overwhelmed and covers his face with his hands. “Please, just leave me alone,” he murmurs, and the bed creaks as Diego stands up.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” his brother mutters awkwardly, but he leaves, which is all Klaus wanted.

“He just wants to help,” murmurs Ben.

“I know,” he mutters dismissively, wiping his eyes and exhaling slowly. “I don’t need t-therapy.”

“Klaus,” murmurs Ben in that knowing tone of his. “It could really help. You know you’re struggling-“

“Of course I’m struggling,” he snaps, but his tone is tired rather than sharp.

“I know,” Ben murmurs. “And that’s okay. But you deserve to get help, too.”

Klaus doesn’t respond. He chews on his lower lip and sinks back down into bed, and at some point, he isn’t sure when, the door opens and Eudora steps inside with two plates of food – pizza, his favourite.

She sits his plate on the bedside table within his reach, and then sits on the edge of his bed with her own plate and takes a bite. “I’ve got tomorrow off,” she comments absently. Klaus doesn’t respond, though she doesn’t seem all that surprised. He eyes his pizza as if trying to decipher whether or not he will bother trying to eat any of it or if he will just leave it there, untouched. “And I got this new DVD. It’s been pretty stressful at the academy; thought it’d be nice to just chill out for a day. You might like it,” she offers. Klaus grunts his acknowledgement and, a little lulled by the conversation, he reaches out to shakily pick up a slice of pizza, using both hands to guide it to his mouth.

“Plus,” Eudora comments, and she fishes in the pocket of her sweatpants for something and then holds up a little bottle of black nail polish, shaking it slightly. “You’re long overdue for a new coat.”

Klaus glances at the chipped paint clinging to his nails and then back to Eudora, waiting for his reaction. He knows she’s just trying to lift his mood, but she doesn’t have to; they hardly know one another beyond being somehow related to Diego and being forced to live with one another. She could have just ignored him and left Diego to deal with him, but she’s been just as active in being there for him as his brother has; often times she’s better at having normal conversations with him, because Klaus is fine lashing out at his brother, but he’d feel worse if he did it to Eudora.

Perhaps that’s why, after he actually finishes his full plate for dinner, he finds Eudora sitting on his bed, his hands in hers as she concentrates on painting his nails black and keeping it all clean while she talks about something unimportant and ordinary that somehow works in taking his mind away from his own vicious cycle of dark thoughts for a little while.

It’s not great, but it’s nice, at least, and so Klaus lets himself enjoy the moment as much as he can and tries not to think about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, I'm back with another surprise update on a random fic. Surprise!  
> I'm depressed and therefore you get some more sadness for Klaus. Enjoy :)   
> I know it's all sad so far! But there may be good things to finally come soon to break up the angst for just a moment. As a treat


	13. Chapter 13

Diego is home today.

Eudora goes off to the academy early in the morning, and Diego remains home. Klaus comes out for breakfast, and then Diego helps him into the bath because he’s put off bathing for as long as he can now and he doesn’t like to admit that he feels slightly better (in some ways; equally worse in others) after he cleans his hair and washes himself. That positivity, however, is often times sucked out of him by the time he finishes doing so and he realises now he has to call Diego back in to get him out of the bathtub.

Diego, the asshole, closed his bedroom door properly, and it’s a tiny thing but he knows his brother knows that he struggles to open it by himself and get himself through it, so he remains, begrudgingly, in the living room. Diego potters about; watches the news, does some paperwork. Klaus sits by the dining table, nursing a cup of tea and staring down at the sketchbook in front of him. It’s getting full. Maybe he’ll have to ask Diego if they can get another one.

Amy had said that drawing would be good for him; would help build up his strength and coordination in his hands, and he has certainly seen the progress he’s made from the first page to now, where his lines are a little more steady, more controlled. Which is good, he knows, but it is still frustrating with simply how much function he’s lost and not even restricted to his legs, because of course there has to be more to it than that.

He knows he is lucky – if one can call him that – to have come out of the accident as he is; knows it could have been much worse. The spinal injury could have been worse; the paralysis could have covered more of his body – his entire body – and the other injuries he had received could have been worse; the scars, although still bad on his torso thanks to being shirtless and skidding across the road, could also have been worse. It all could have been much worse; but that doesn’t mean he is content with the actual situation, least of all grateful.

“What are you thinking?” Ben asks him, leaning against the table to his side. Klaus shrugs, eyes slipping over to Diego, skimming over his paperwork. He shrugs half-heartedly and then shakes his head. “Thought anymore on the therapy?” He asks.

A couple of days have passed since that conversation and they haven’t picked it up again. Klaus is perfectly fine to leave that conversation in the past; he doesn’t want a therapist; doubts it would actually help at all. If he thinks about the accident and his paralysis too much then it simply depresses him further. Ignoring it might not be a good way to cope either, but it works slightly better.

“Don’t n-need it,” he mumbles, quiet enough Diego doesn’t catch him.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Ben scoffs, and Klaus rolls his eyes. His therapist would be about a decade too late if he ever got one. Before he can respond to Ben, Diego rises to his feet, puts aside his paperwork, and wanders over to Klaus.

“We’re going out,” he announces. Klaus gives him a look.

“Okay?”

“We, as in both of us.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m going to tack-tuh- _take_ a nap,” he states, pushing himself back from the dining table a bit.

“You can do that after,” says Diego, already grabbing a pair of shoes and shoving his feet into them, and then he grabs Klaus’ boots and comes close to him. Klaus wheels himself backwards but then his wheel gets caught on the leg of the table and he’s stuck.

“I’ve not had a good day off for a while and you need to get out for a while. Plus, you hardly touched your breakfast. We can go out and grab something to eat.”

“I don’t want to go out,” Klaus grumbles, fumbling to dislodge himself from his place by the table to put some more distance between he and Diego, but Diego is faster than him. At the very least, his brother knows not to touch his legs without Klaus giving him permission to do so. (It still makes him faintly nauseous, seeing hands on his legs but not feeling them at all. He doesn’t like it happening if he doesn’t let the person do it.)

“You can’t stay inside forever,” Diego states. “It’ll be good to get out for a couple of hours.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” he reiterates, glaring at his brother who is now right in front of him.

“Come on, bro,” says Diego. “I’ll get you the coffee you like.”

Klaus knows that if he really kept pushing, or if he got upset, Diego would drop it and he would be able to just stay in and do nothing, but – well, he is bored of being inside. He spent enough time stuck inside in the hospital, and he admittedly would like to go out, he just can’t find the energy or motivation to actually want to do so. Nonetheless, he relents, and nods once before looking away to avoid Diego’s stupid smile.

“Can I?” His brother asks, holding up his shoes, and he nods once more and doesn’t even feel Diego put the boots on his feet and then reposition his feet on the footrest. “I’ll get your coat, it’s supposed to be cold.”

He’s been building up the coordination in his upper body, arms included, but Diego still has to help him into the coat because he can’t quite manoeuvre his arms behind his body and into the coat sleeves so easily, but then it is done and Klaus buries himself into his coat as Diego wheels him towards the door, and then they are outside for the first time since he moved in with Diego and his girlfriend.

It is cold outside, a chill in the air that nips at his nose. He sinks deeper into his coat and wraps his arms around himself. He wishes he had a cigarette. Maybe he can convince Diego to get him some if he is sad enough and complains about drugs enough.

He does like getting outside, managing to see the city once more, but he is surprised at how anxious he feels being outside, too. People openly stare at him as Diego wheels him down the street and he’s used to that – used to being stared at openly, typically with disgust – and if anything he’s revelled in the attention. But now there’s pity and curiosity and he hates it.

“I found this new coffee shop – someone at the academy told me about it. It’s where I was getting that coffee you liked for you when you were in the hospital,” Diego comments absently. “Food’s pretty good there too. I think you’ll like it.”

Klaus grunts. To his left, Ben dodges someone who is about to walk straight through him, and to his right cars roll down the road. Distantly, Klaus wonders what the scene of the accident looked like; how bad the car was, how bad the other guys were; what he looked like. He asked Ben once, but his brother had simply clenched his jaw, looked away and shook his head. Pretty bad, he supposes.

“You still need to be eating more,” says Diego, and Klaus represses the urge to roll his eyes.

“Can you buy me cigurt-cigare-ettes?”

“I’m not getting you cigarettes,” drawls his brother.

“I could be smuh-smoking meth,” he jabs, and he hears Diego scoff. “Come on,” he whines, turning his head to look up at him. “It’s fah-fucking _hard_ , Dah-D-ie-go.” He always stumbles over his name. It makes his cheeks burn with embarrassment, but maybe it worked in his favour because Diego looks away, presses his lips together, and then sighs.

“Fine,” he relents, shoulders slumping in defeat; he leans a little heavier on the handles of Klaus’ wheelchair. “We’ll pick up a pack on the way back.”

Klaus forces a grin, happy he at least gets this, and then he looks forwards again down the street. Diego always seems to give in when he sees Klaus struggle with words, and he knows it’s because of his own stutter when he was younger. Suddenly in his position, Klaus feels guilty for the times he used to jab fun at his stutter when they got in childish arguments. Diego has never done anything like that to him, but Klaus can imagine he would feel utterly humiliated if he did.

They reach the coffee shop and they fumble with the door until Diego holds it open and Klaus wheels himself through, and then Diego moves aside some chairs in the café to make space for Klaus to slide by the table.

It’s a cute place, he thinks; certainly not somewhere he would have ever visited before – it’s too nice for him to have come here – but he likes it. The air smells like coffee beans and pastries and there’s gentle music playing in the background; there are only a couple other groups there, and no one stares at him.

He’s glancing over the little menu on the table when someone comes over.

“Oh, hey, Diego,” says the waiter, and Klaus turns the menu over. He knows what coffee he’ll get, and maybe he’ll relent and get a sandwich to get Diego off his back about his eating, too. “What can I get for the both of you?”

“Usual, for me,” says Diego, and then he nudges Klaus’ wrist. “Klaus?”

Looking up from the menu, Klaus says, “just a-an iced coffee and-“ He pauses as blue eyes like the sea stare back at him and, well; Klaus didn’t know coffee shops were now hiring models, because the man in front of him is strikingly attractive, even with tousled hair and an apron wrapped around his hips. Light stubble covers his sharp jaw and he quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Are you seriously swooning over a waiter right now?” Ben retorts, and Klaus clears his throat, glares at him, and then looks back to the waiter.

“And a cuh-cu-cumber sandwich. Please.”

His cheeks heat up at his own stutter and it snaps him out of that sudden attraction. He glares down at the table in front of himself, but the man just smiles.

“Sure thing,” he says cheerfully. “I’ll get that for you two.”

Diego is staring at him.

“What?” Klaus snaps.

“Dave? _Really_?”

“ _What_?”

“Nothing,” Diego says, shaking his head. “If I’d known all it took to get you to do something was a good looking guy, I would’ve brought you hear age ago.”

Klaus wishes he could kick him. He can’t, so he settles on grumbling out, “shut up.”

Diego simply gives him a knowing look. “He’s served me before,” he comments. “He’s nice.”

Klaus gives him a look and Diego meets it. “Nice guy,” he repeats, shrugging. Klaus glares at him, but then Dave is coming over again with their food and drinks and laying them out on the table.

“This is the brother I mentioned,” Diego says, nodding at a blushing Klaus. “Name’s Klaus. He’s never been this shy in his life-“

“ _Shut up_ ,” Klaus growls under his breath, glaring at the sandwich in front of him. Klaus has never been shy; has always loved talking to new people, never been afraid of shooting his shot, and had he met Dave a few months ago then he would have been all soft smiles, smooth words and warm eyes. It is disheartening, to be yet again hit with another truth of his new situation. Klaus can’t help but feel horrifically unattractive and he just feels humiliated all over again.

But Dave gives a soft laugh. “Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses calmly. “I’m sure you’ve both been busy recently and you must be stressed, but hey; enjoy the food and if I can do anything, let me know.”

“Thanks, Dave,” Diego says, and Klaus keeps his mouth shut. Once Dave has left, he picks up his iced coffee, stirs it and then sips it.

“Come on, last time we went to a diner you smooth-talked us into a free meal,” Diego says, frowning at him. “You can’t tell me you’re suddenly not interested in him.”

“Fuck off,” Klaus mutters around the straw in his mouth.

Diego frowns at him, but then nods at their food. “Eat up,” he says, and Klaus is grateful he’s dropping the subject. “I’ll still get you the cigarettes on the way back.”

Klaus doesn’t bother thanking him.

He, truthfully, has never had a problem flirting with people and seducing them. He’s never had a problem feeling ugly and shy in those regards, but he suddenly can’t imagine Dave, who seems so nice already, being even vaguely interested in him, when he can’t even speak a proper sentence.

Feeling more disheartened than before he left the house, Klaus picks at his sandwich until it’s gone. He stays quiet as Dave comes back to grab their dishes and Diego pays, and then he places a paper bag on the table, and smiles gently.

“Couple of chocolate muffins,” he says. “As a treat – on the house.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” says Diego, but Dave waves him off.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, and he smiles at Klaus, looking right at him. “Just enjoy it, have a good day. Hopefully I’ll see you again someday.”

“Definitely,” says Diego, and he hands the muffins to Klaus to keep on his lap. Dave follows them to the door, holding it open for them, and Klaus lets his gaze linger on him for a moment. Dave simply smiles, and offers them a wave, and once they are outside he goes back and returns to his job.

“The muffins are so fucking good from there,” Diego comments, and Klaus grints, holding the bag on his lap.

Diego gets him those cigarettes, and at home he sits by a window and smokes one of them and picks at the muffin Dave gave him, and he isn’t sure what he feels.

He stamps out the cigarette and lights up another one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this has made me incredibly aware of how many places are not actually wheelchair friendly or accessible at all  
> But on the bright side: Dave!!


	14. Chapter 14

“How did you deal wi-with it?” 

Diego looks at him in surprise, as if shocked that Klaus is willingly talking to him and going as far as to start the conversation. His lips hover over the rim of his coffee mug and he pauses, raising his eyebrows. “Deal with what?” He asks, then sips his coffee. Eudora should be home soon, he thinks. They’re getting takeout for dinner. 

Klaus looks at the stress ball in his hand – something he’s used to build up the strength in his hands –and turns it around; presses his fingers into it and shrugs half-heartedly, losing the confidence to talk to him about this once more.

“Hey, come on, you can’t just leave me hanging like that,” Diego says. “What is it?” 

His nails leave crescents in the ball in his hand and he sighs. “How did-did you deal with your stutt-utter?” He asks, voice small, and he avoids looking up at Diego for fear of what he might see. He highly doubts Diego would ever make fun of him for any speech issues, but he can’t help but be self-conscious of it. 

Diego is quiet for several moments and Klaus risks lifting his gaze to look at him and finds him staring at him. He looks a little torn, as if trying to decide what to say, and there is a shadow in his eyes as if he is remembering it. 

Diego sighs and sets his coffee down on the table, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position; he leans back in the chair and gathers himself, wetting his lips as his eyes bounce a few times from Klaus to elsewhere and back again. 

“It was… hard,” he finally admits, head bobbing slightly in a small nod. “Some words were better than others; some days were better than others. It’s worse when I’m emotional. I just… had to practice it a lot. Mom helped a lot with it, but it just took time.” He pauses, scratching at his jaw in thought. “It was embarrassing, ‘cause Dad wouldn’t let me talk in any interviews until it was gone, and people pitied me for it and didn’t take me seriously. I hated it.” Diego deflates slightly and Klaus – Klaus is kind of shocked, really. To hear Diego willingly open up a little like this, and to hear his thoughts on his stutter. 

Diego runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “It isn’t fun,” he says. “And mine is different to yours with the, you know. Head injury.” Diego grimaces slightly, but Klaus doesn’t comment on what he says – it’s true, after all, Diego simply had a stutter growing up whilst Klaus got it knocked into him by asphalt. “But, uh, just practicing helped me, and time. Talking slowly. The doctor said it would likely just take time.”

The doctors had said that only time would tell how his speech would go. If he would get over the stutter in a few months, or a couple of years, or never; if there would always be a slight slur to some of his words or if that would go away too. They had no way of definitely seeing an outcome for such a thing. Which was, like the rest of the situation: utterly shit. 

Klaus squeezes the ball in his hand; turns it around in his grasp and stares at the way his nails dig into it. Diego seems to be waiting for him to continue to speak, and he isn’t sure he really wants to. He has a thousand things he wants to say, though not necessarily solely about his or Diego’s speech issues, and he’s afraid that if he starts he won’t be able to stop. 

He shrugs helplessly under Diego’s gaze and sighs. “Sorry about being a-a dick about it,” he murmurs. Diego snorts.

“You’re always a dick,” he jokes, but he too sighs. “It’s fine, bro.” Diego pauses, staring down at his coffee with his eyebrows furrowed and forehead wrinkled, so Klaus simply stares at him and waits for him to speak.

“Uh, I was meaning to ask you this, but Eudora thought it’d be better to wait until you’d settled down, y’know?”

Klaus quirks an eyebrow, watches Diego awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. “What?”

Diego takes a moment before speaking again. “No one else knows,” he says. Klaus continues to stare at him. “You know… Allison, Vanya, Luther. They don’t know about what happened, and I didn’t want to tell them without talking to you.”

Klaus blinks. His gaze bores into Diego as the words take a moment to sink into his head – for a moment he wonders what happened, words simply not processing – and then his gaze slides over to Ben and he subtly quirks an eyebrow. He hasn’t thought about his other siblings at all. Luther is still under their father’s spell and he hasn’t spoken to either Allison or Vanya in ages; and the last time he did, it did not end very well. He isn’t even sure either he or Diego could get to Allison, although the situation might give them a bit of a priority in her list of people to get back to.

“I don’t think we could reach Luther without also dealing with Dad, but we could get a hold of Allison and Vanya, and-“

“No,” says Klaus, cutting him off. Diego pauses, lifting his eyebrows.

“What? Why?”

“I do-don’t want to,” he says, giving him a short glance before returning his attention back to the ball in his hand. 

“I think it’s pretty important,” says Diego, and Klaus shakes his head again. 

“’s not like tha-they’re gonna do anything.” Besides, perhaps, using it to further judge him. There would be all the pitying looks, of course, and they’d try and treat him like a child and not take him seriously, or they might even think he deserved it, doing something so stupid as to getting so high and getting in a car like that. And he knows it’s his fault, but he just – doesn’t think he could handle hearing it, not right now.

“Klaus, come on-“

“No.” It comes out sharp, a little sharper than he intended, but he doesn’t try to take it back; he folds his arms over his chest and glares at him. Diego sighs, giving him another look, but then he shrugs. 

“Alright, okay,” he says. “Your choice, but I think you should think about it, bro. They’re your sisters.”

Klaus makes no promise of doing such a thing, and he thinks the use of family is pretty poor, all things considered, but at least Diego backs off a little, even if he still seems a little bristly that Klaus still refuses to cooperate with him for just about anything. 

A few minutes are spent in tense silence until Klaus relaxes a little, no longer feeling as if he might just lash out at Diego if he says anything just for the sake of doing it. His thoughts stray back to what Diego had said about his stutter, pondering over it as he turns the ball in his hand over and over. His thoughts are disrupted when the front door opens and Eudora steps in, takeout balanced in her arms. Diego visibly perks up and wanders over to greet her. 

In the past few days, Klaus had thought there had been some… tension amongst them, just a little. He’d heard them up late at night talking, had heard snippets of conversation about the police academy, things toeing on arguments, but they always seemed fine in front of him; even now, when Diego welcomed her home with a kiss to the cheek and she squeezed his arm. Perhaps he was looking too deep into it because of the boredom being stuck in the house has given him, but he’s pretty certain Ben has picked up on it too, although he’s chosen to say nothing about it so far.

Surprising, because Ben loves gossip, especially now that he can spy and eavesdrop on people with no consequence.

Klaus picks at the takeout, continues to deflect most of the attempts made to pull him into a proper conversation, and then he returns to his bedroom. 

He falls asleep quicker these nights than he used to, ignoring the ones where he would pass out early from a variety of drugs and alcohol, but he still finds himself in bed and restless, determinedly trying to not follow any of the many trails of thoughts he has, knowing that not a single one of them is particularly positive. In the end, though, he ends up thinking about the others; imagines seeing them again while like this. 

It is entirely possible that he could run into Vanya out in the city, and less so Allison. He has no idea when he might ever see Luther again, for as long as his brother stays at the Academy and brainwashed by their father, Klaus has no intentions of seeking him out. Had Klaus not been used to how broken their family was, he might be a little disheartened; as it is, Klaus now just shrugs off those thoughts, and finally he falls asleep.

  
### 

  
“Do you want to come?”

Klaus blinks up tiredly at Diego, forcing his hand through the sleeve of his sweater. “What?” He asks with a frown. Diego tugs the sweater down by his back a little and gives him a look.

“I asked if you wanted to go out for breakfast,” he repeats. “It’s a nice day and we have nothing for breakfast – gotta grab groceries too.”

He’s still half asleep and he pins that on the way he nods agreeably to Diego without really thinking about the idea of going outside again. He hardly realises until he’s in his coat and shoes and halfway out the door, and then he cranes his neck to look at Diego to ask, “where are going?”

Diego leans a little forwards to be heard easier. “Gonna grab food, bro, then we need to grab some groceries. I was going to go back to the café I took you to last week, but if you have any suggestions…”

Klaus shrugs half-heartedly, slumping back into his wheelchair, falling silent for a few moments before a thought occurs to him. “Can-can we get a-another skitch-ski-“ he pauses, frowning at himself and exhaling his frustration out slowly, and then tries again. “S-sketchpad?”

Diego, patient as ever when it comes to his stutter, simply waits until he’s got the word out and then hums. “Filled the last one out?” He asks.

“Nearly,” mutters Klaus, thumbing the hem of his sweater. 

“Why not.” Diego shrugs. “We’ll grab one if there’s one there, sure.”

Quietly, Klaus offers a gentle, “thank you,” and in return Diego grunts his acknowledgement and says nothing about it.

In the café there is once more the brief struggle of Diego manoeuvring chairs out of their way for Klaus to get through to the table they choose to sit at, but there is only a few other people there who don’t look too long at either of them. 

It turns out that the café does actually offer some good breakfast food, much to Klaus’ pleasure – well-cooked breakfast food was one of the few things he could muster enough energy to feel excited about – and, to a smaller extent, a part of him was pleased, or perhaps excited, to see a certain smiling waiter still there, and wandering over to greet them.

He hadn’t thought about Dave much since the last time he’d seen him, but it was probably only fair to want to talk to someone else when he’d been stuck with his nearly-estranged brother and having to navigate living with him along with the consequences of his accident. He probably would go crazy if he didn’t get to talk to someone that wasn’t one of his brother’s. Eudora was pleasant to talk to, but she was too close to Diego to count.

“Good morning,” Dave greets with a smile, entirely too energetic and chipper for this early in the day. “How are y’all?”

“Tell me you’ve got coffee,” Diego requests, earning a chuckle from Dave. Seeing his brother interact with normal people pleasantly never fails to unsettle Klaus, and he can’t help but wonder how often he came here to make friends with Dave.

“I’ll get one started for you,” says the waiter, and then he turns his gaze towards Klaus. “What about you?” He asks, and Klaus has suddenly forgotten what it was he wanted to drink. He stumbles for a moment before gesturing at Diego.

“C-coffee,” he murmurs, glancing aside to avoid Dave’s ever-bright smile. 

“No problem.” Dave offers a sweeping glance at them before hurrying off to make them a couple of coffees. It doesn’t take him long to make the drinks and then return to ask what they want to eat, and soon enough Klaus is picking at a plate of pancakes in front of himself while Dave lingers. Every other customer has been seen to and so he takes the opportunity to hover and ask their plans for today, and Diego is more than happy to chat away with him. He’s probably just happy to have a conversation with someone who actually bothers to engage in it, unlike Klaus, who is content, sort of, to sit out of it and pick silently at his food. 

Klaus doesn’t necessarily want to step out of any and all conversations, but he finds a part of himself almost afraid to interject and take part; a little anxious, and he can’t bring himself to do it. 

It is still unsettling, how unlike himself he feels now; uncertain of everything and of himself, and the hit his confidence has taken. He doesn’t think it’s surprising, considering the severity of his accident, but it’s something he’s never expected to have to deal with. 

And yet, even while chatting conversationally with Diego, Dave turns every so often and asks Klaus’ input or opinion on something without trying to force him to talk. It feels less nagging than when Diego does it, or perhaps that’s just the sibling relationship making him feel that way. 

Diego disappears to the bathroom once he’s finished his own breakfast, leaving he and Dave alone. Dave makes absentminded chatter to fill the silence as he piles up Diego’s dishes, and it’s nice to listen to someone else talk about little things that don’t really matter, not forcing Klaus to talk as well if he doesn’t want to, although he occasionally looks to him for a response of he has any.

Dave is talking about hobbies. More specifically, reading – one of the less thrilling activities one can have, but Dave never really struck him as someone who frequented raves instead – much to Ben’s pleasure. Ben is probably more engrossed in his book review than Klaus is, but Klaus likes the way Dave gestures as he talks and the little shine to his eyes when he gets passionate about the topic, and he finds his voice relaxing to listen to; comforting, almost. It works to make Klaus feel more confident around him, at least; as if they’ve been friends for a while and Klaus has no reason to be shy or insecure around him.

“I, uh, draw,” he offers, a little awkwardly. He shrugs, stabs another little section of his pancake. 

“Oh?” Hums Dave, curious. “That’s cool – my sister likes to draw, I can’t do art to save my life. You look like you’d be good at that, though,” he comments, and Klaus quirks an eyebrow at him. Dave lets out a small laugh at his expression, hurrying to clarify. “You’ve got an artsy vibe. I totally get that from you.”

“An artsy v-vibe?” Repeats Klaus, lips curling up in slight amusement. Dave hums, nodding confidently in his statement. 

“You’ll have to show me something, sometime,” Dave says, then hurries to add, “only if you want, of course.”

Klaus hums, offering a small smirk. “Maybe,” he drawls, and goes to say something else when Diego makes his return. Klaus pushes his own plate away from himself slightly, watching as Diego pulls his coat on. 

“Well,” says Dave, gathering their dishes up, “lovely to see you both again, don’t be strangers.”

“You too, Dave,” says Diego, and Klaus offers a small wave and smile. Like last time, Dave holds the door open for them as they leave. And as they leave, Klaus can’t help but feel better than he has in a long time.

“Dave is nice,” comments Ben, keeping pace by his side, hands stuffed into his pockets and looking around the street. Klaus hums his acknowledgement, trying to listen to Diego list off their grocery list at the same time. “He’s got good choices in books. I like him.”

Klaus holds back from making a joking comment in front of Diego, but he watches Ben carefully. His brother looks more chipper than he has been in a while too, and Klaus might suspect he is just relieved to see Klaus feeling a little better too. 

Diego is talking about some brand of cereal that Eudora likes when Ben starts calling his name.

“Hey, Klaus, is that – look at that, Klaus.”

Frowning, Klaus stares at Ben, stopped in his tracks and staring at a shop across the street. He reaches one hand out to slap Diego’s hand to get him to stop, and he does. 

“What is it, Klaus?” He asks, frowning, so Klaus points to whatever has Ben so curious, leading to Diego crossing they street when it’s safe. 

Unsurprisingly, what has Ben’s attention is a bookstore. He is about to brush it off, however, when something in the window catches his eye; a picture of his sister, an old one when she was young, under the title:

_Extra Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven._


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end notes. They're vague and brief, but still there

Of course, they buy a copy of the book. Klaus reads the back of it while they continue on their way to go grocery shopping. As far as Klaus can tell, it is an autobiography about her life as the ordinary, powerless member of the Umbrella Academy.

Klaus isn’t sure what he thinks of that, really. Good on her for writing a book, he thinks, although he can’t imagine what she has actually written about. He holds himself back from reading it himself as they hurriedly gather groceries, and a sketch pad for himself, and the book weighs down heavily in his hands all the way back home.

All of them could probably fill multiple novels about the Academy from their own perspective, but he has to admit he has never really given Vanya’s perspective in the Academy much thought. He’d been jealous, a few times, when the mausoleum got worse and the drugs got worse and his siblings began to hate him and everything just started to go downhill, and he knew he would trade Vanya’s role in a heartbeat. If he could, he would get rid of his own powers, distance himself entirely from the Academy, and live a normal life. Nonetheless, he’d been a little preoccupied with the fact that he did have powers – awful, horrible powers – to really think about Vanya much, in the Academy and out of it.

He is curious to see what she’s said, but he can’t help but feel some dread towards it. Vanya does not know a lot about the Academy – not the more personal aspects of it, the intimate secrets about their powers and their training. She doesn’t know about the mausoleum, for example, so that should not be in there. But there are plenty of other things that she could have spoken about that would not bode well in the public’s eye. Things that none of them would particularly like the public to know, either.

He hasn’t even opened the book yet, so he tells himself he’s thinking too into it. Maybe this book will be cathartic to read. Maybe it will let the public know that the Academy wasn’t what everyone thought it was, and that will be all.

For some reason, he doubts that.

Diego is in a rush to finish their shopping and get home, so much so that he doesn’t even put it all away when they do get back. He stands over Klaus’ shoulder and Ben stands over the other. Klaus opens the book to the first page, and they all read.

It starts off simple enough; a slight mocking tone, almost, that he has never actually heard from Vanya. Mocking Reginald, which he can appreciate. She sets the scene with their early childhood, and it’s – simple. Nothing particularly fascinating, but it is interesting for Klaus to read. He’d almost forgotten that normal childhoods didn’t involve screaming corpses or being studied like guinea pigs taking part in an experiment.

She discusses the siblings in order of their numbers. Klaus has not felt – protective of Luther in a long, long time. Not since they were children and he thought he was strong enough to do a single thing. He isn’t even sure that is entirely what he feels now, but Vanya does not go easy on Luther in this book. Not at all.

Frankly, it makes him feel a little sick. The words drip with venom he hadn’t known Vanya capable of having and he knows Luther is not perfect, far from it, especially as they grew older and Luther advocated in favour of Reginald’s abuse, but there were moments where he wasn’t like that. There were times Klaus could see around that. Years and years ago, perhaps, but still there nonetheless. And he understands now, a little better than he had a few years ago, just how Reginald worked his way into his brother’s head, and it doesn’t excuse the things he’s done or things he has said, but Klaus knows that Luther isn’t malicious, nor was he untouched by Reginald’s abuse.

“What the fuck,” mutters Diego, a moment after Ben had just done so. He’s leaning close enough that Klaus wants to snap at him for breathing right by his ear, but the shock of the words he’d just read makes him forget about that. “What the fuck.”

It feels like an invasion on Luther’s privacy, reading some of this. He can’t imagine Luther being alright with this.

“What’d she say about me?” Diego asks, and Klaus flips through the pages until he finds the section that addresses him. He has half a mind to pass the book off to him and let him read it in private.

Half way through Diego’s section, Klaus does just that. He doesn’t think that’s something they can read together.

Diego takes it from his hands and paces away, holding it so tightly Klaus thinks he might just rip the book in two. The expression on his face as it morphs between shock and hurt and anger is almost painful to watch, especially when it turns to betrayal.

“D-Die-go?” Klaus asks, slow and quiet, but his brother doesn’t acknowledge him. He keeps pacing, keeps reading, and then something makes his eyes widen and he slams his fist into the wall. Klaus startles, watching with a grimace as Diego takes his fist away from the new dent in the wall.

“Di-ego?” He repeats, not so much afraid as he is actively worried for him, but he still hesitates before manoeuvring himself a little close, reaching a hand out to try and snatch his wrist in passing.

“I’m-“ Diego swallows audibly, and then he drops the book onto the coffee table. “I’m going out,” he states, voice tight, and he all but storms outside. The door slams shut behind him and Klaus stares after him and then slowly forces his shoulders to relax.

Ben seems just as speechless beside him, unable to do much more than just stare at Klaus in an odd state of shock.

Then Klaus picks the book up again.

Diego probably won’t be back for a few hours and Eudora is out for the day as well. Tomorrow is her day off, he knows. That’s probably a good thing; it’ll take the whole day to try and get close to Diego and calm him down.

He can’t help but read Diego’s section now that he’s gone, and it leaves him understanding, at least partly, why he stormed out. Of course, it would have been worse for Diego to have to read, since it was about him, but it is bad enough for Klaus to read as well. It’s just – all unforgiving, vicious jabs at them and weak spots, surprise trigger points for them, and it just lays out every intimate secret about the Academy that they had all come to a mutual agreement that they would simply never talk about – not with each other, not with the world.

It is the same for Allison. Five’s is shorter and sweeter, but she makes up for it by going in on Klaus and the mess that was him trying to conjure their brother and everyone arguing over whether or not Five was dead or alive, if Klaus was lying or not, or if he was even trying, and why he kept breaking into the medicine cabinet in the infirmary.

Ben’s is written enough to be seen as respectful, and she obviously favours both him and Five out of all of them, but there are still jabs about him and his relationship with Luther and Reginald; their obedience to their father. Things Klaus hadn’t even really thought about; things that leave them sitting in tense silence as Ben stares at his hands with a dark expression.

It takes fifteen minutes for Ben to speak up. “I don’t – maybe you… maybe you shouldn’t read yours, Klaus,” he murmurs, still avoiding his gaze. Klaus had decided to leave his own part for last; decided that he probably wouldn’t want to read the rest after his, so he read around it. He doesn’t feel any more confident that his section will be relatively nice, what with the rest of the book.

Maybe he shouldn’t. He highly doubts it will do him any good. He knows it won’t. He thinks back to when the last time he saw Vanya was, and he knows it must have been at least a couple of years ago now, aside from maybe a split second in passing on the street every now and then. Klaus knows he has more than enough stuff to be dealing with at the moment; doesn’t need to see what Vanya’s said about him and deal with that. He already has arguably one of, if not the worst reputation among them; with the drugs and the drinking and the stealing and conjuring Five and then ‘lying’ about Ben and being high at his funeral; he knows that talking about him is always going to be more negative than positive, let alone going in on him as Vanya has with everyone else.

He stares at the picture of her on the back. She looks uncomfortable, looking into the camera. She probably is. He wonders where she got the idea to do this from; where she got the confidence to do it.

Klaus has never been very good at listening to advice; least of all Ben’s. And so, he finds himself flicking through the pages until he gets to his dedicated section, and he smooths it out. Ben doesn’t say anything; just gives him a look, something like pleading, but he eventually just ends up going back to his own thoughts and leaves Klaus to read.

Klaus is not a perfect person. Hell, he isn’t even a good one – he knows this. He has said and done horrible things, high and drunk and sober. He has let his siblings watch him self-destruct and offered no explanation, although he knows they wouldn’t even believe him if he did. He’s made them see him in hospital time and time again, yet another overdose, each one making him look a little worse for wear – a little skinnier, a little more selfish, a little more unhinged; each one moving him farther away from being able to be helped. Vanya and Diego are the ones who have seen him on the streets the most, let him crash in their place, were the last ones to keep seeing him in hospital. Vanya has seen – not a lot, in the grand scale of it, but enough – of his life on the streets to dissect it; to come to logical conclusions without needing him to fill in the blanks for her. She has enough shit on him from the Academy and from the life out of it, and she talks about both.

Klaus knows his siblings don’t understand the ghosts and they don’t understand the addiction. With the amount of help they’ve offered him, the amount they’ve all pleaded him to get help, and how he has turned it down every single time; it’s selfish now, and he agrees with that. Klaus is selfish, because if he isn’t selfish on the streets then only making life so much harder for himself. He’s selfish because the alternative is ghosts and he – he knows where the ghosts would inevitably drive him - knows because he’s already been driven to that point, but somehow miraculously avoids it each time – and a part of him would rather cling to this pitiful excuse of a life than go there. He’s not sure why – especially now, after the accident – but he still does.

His siblings don’t understand that he only has two options, and the drugs and homelessness might be painful for them to watch, it is still the better of the two. Klaus doesn’t have any intentions of telling them that, though – never has.

It was never Klaus’ intention to hurt them, but the Academy chewed them all up and spit them out, but the ghosts did that to him long before the Academy did, and then the streets did it to him too, and he’s picked up bad habits from bad people and doesn’t care about much anymore – hasn’t in a long time – and –

Klaus isn’t a perfect person. He isn’t even a good one.

But, if nothing else, he never _wanted_ to hurt any of them. And he never lied about Ben, and he never enjoyed the attention he got from the overdoses like they accused him off, and he tried to find Five so much it almost drove him insane, and he doesn’t explain himself because they wouldn’t understand and he doesn’t want to expose them to the ghosts. He knows they’d scare them, and he doesn’t want to do that to them.

It’s a little (very) daunting, however, to think that now the world thinks of The Séance as a selfish alcoholic and drug addict, stealing and malicious, disrespectful at his own brother’s funeral, and has only gone on to continue to be a dirty, stealing, selfish addict with no care for anyone or anything as long as they aren’t drugs, and the fact that he would do anything for them – and the implications at anything were clear enough, even if they weren’t written out word for word. Idly, Klaus wonders if Vanya was ever walking home at night and saw Klaus at the end of the street, teetering on heels before getting into a random car, only to re-emerge fixing his hair or his clothes and stuffing money into his pants.

Klaus feels… oddly calm, as he closes the book. He can’t quite bring himself to respond to Ben’s gentle prodding, but he supposes he can always talk to him later. For now, he’s just –

He’s tired, he thinks.

He leaves the book on the coffee table – he doesn’t want to see it anymore and maybe Diego will come back and want to read the rest of it – and then he blinks and he’s manoeuvring himself onto his bed with shaky arms. He pulls the covers over himself, moves his legs into a more comfortable position on the bed, and he stares at the wall opposite himself.

Ben is probably still trying to get him to talk, but the world seems fuzzy and distant to him, but that’s okay. He doesn’t think he’d like to be entirely grounded at the moment.

He blinks, and he can’t help but wonder how talented his sister is. She made it seem as if the way he screamed the day Ben died so much that Grace had to sedate him had all been a play for attention.

If nothing else, at least he knows the answer when he wonders if his siblings would think he deserved to get in that accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for vague implications to suicide; prostitution; overdoses.
> 
> Hmmmm  
> :(


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end notes.  
> Otherwise, enjoy

The following days are… bad, to say the least. Perhaps even worse than when Klaus first came to the house. 

Definitely worse than when Klaus first came to the house.

There is another hole in the wall, courtesy of Diego’s fist, and Klaus hears his brother and Eudora arguing often. It was small, at first, Diego’s temper getting the better of him and lashing out, Eudora dealing with him with infinite patience and practice, but the tensions kept rising and Diego didn’t calm down and Eudora could only deal with so much. Plus, Diego was just plain annoying to deal with when he was in his moods. Klaus would know.

They have only argued once so far, but Klaus puts that to the fact that he hardly ever comes out of his room and therefore can’t see Diego. Plus, Diego is out of the house nearly all day anyway, doing god knows what when he isn’t at work. (Although, apparently that is suffering too, from the few snatches he caught from his and Eudora’s arguments where she claimed it was only a matter of time before he got himself kicked out of the police academy if he didn’t get his head out of his ass.)

He really ought to get Eudora a medal or something, because she survived a long time putting up with two Hargreeves’ in shit moods for longer than he would have. She tried to coax him out of his bedroom, or to eat, or whatnot, when Diego gave up (after one attempt, might he add) but when she began to slip up with that, Klaus didn’t blame her. She was busy juggling her own work life and Diego being incredibly hard to deal with, and Klaus was not making it any easier when all he did was lay in bed, down enough meds to make Ben frown, and try not to think about anything in particular. He wasn’t very successful in that, but he tried.

His thoughts simply kept wandering to that book. He knew - well, not entirely, perhaps - that they didn’t treat Vanya the best, or at least he knew that now even if it was way too late, but it wasn’t as if he was purposefully doing so, and he was rather preoccupied with his own issues, considering he had alcohol withdrawals by his tenth birthday. 

Okay, he can understand why Vanya was mad, sort of. Although he would have killed to slip under Reginald’s radar and avoid powers and training like she did, he tries to distance himself from the whole powers thing. He felt like utter shit every time his siblings dismissed him, rolled their eyes at him, never took him seriously, never believed him, never listened to him - so on and so forth. He tried to imagine that feeling, imagined being treated like that from the time they were little kids, never even having a time where they did listen to him at one point. It would suck, no doubt. It would mess someone up, sure. He can see that now, although perhaps not entirely unbiased towards himself, but he can accept that.

It’s just - perhaps he’s selfish to think it, especially considering Vanya just bared all her problems to the world, but he will never not be at least a little hurt by the fact that his family just… don’t understand his own problems at all. Nor have they ever tried. He can understand them thinking him selfish and attention-seeking now, sure, because really he is, but when he was nine? Ten? Thirteen? They can call him selfish all they like now, he gets that, but do they really think back on him at eleven with his breath smelling like vodka and think he did it for attention? When he was fourteen and thought he was oh so  _ mature  _ for his age because older men laughed  ~~ at  ~~ _with_ him, and smoked with him, and let him pass out on their dirty couches when he was supposed to be in bed at the Academy, or told him he was so smart because he learned how to snort powder so quickly; was that just him being attention seeking, even if they never knew he was gone? 

Klaus loves attention. Sure, he loves it. He loves going to clubs, loves dancing and feeling everyone’s eyes on him, loves people looking at and touching him in whatever way, because it makes him feel worth something; makes him feel wanted; as if his memory will stay with them forever and they’ll miss him and want him; as if he is something to miss, something to want. Klaus loves attention. 

Once upon a time, though, that attention felt like rot coiling in his stomach. Older people’s eyes on him made him feel afraid and vulnerable. He had to hide the tremble in his hands when he sorted powder into lines, encouraged by strangers double, triple his own age; was so fucking scared of everything but never knew how to stop and always told himself it was worth it, or not so bad, or  _ whatever _ , in the end. He traded the ghosts for all the dangers of drugs and the people that watched a child delve into addiction with hungry eyes and cheered him on. He simply learned how to deal with it, eventually. Learned how to live in that world, and if he wasn’t selfish there then he was afraid instead, and he knows he wouldn’t have made it so far if he hadn’t been selfish eventually. 

He can understand and accept his siblings for hating him for it now, but he just doesn’t quite understand how they didn’t think of it as a problem when he was younger. How he was happy, then. Was he that convincing of a liar at fourteen? He supposes he had to learn quickly. 

In the end, though, he supposes it doesn’t really matter. It isn’t as if they can go back in time and help his younger self. It isn’t as if an apology will help him at all. It isn’t as if he would have willingly ever stopped the lifestyle he was living. It just… it might help him feel a bit better, maybe, if they understood that it didn’t start because of a sudden need for attention, or an attempt to hurt them. 

It doesn’t matter. The time when that might have happened is long gone, if it ever existed. 

Had he been that much of a prick, back when they were younger? Did no one really realise his cries for help weren’t just flaunting about going to parties? Did they really not question it? 

Ironically, he fiercely craves all the drugs again, even if he is upset about his family being mad about that. His mind tells him how good he could feel compared to how shit he feels now, or it tells him how easily he could forget all of this, how easily he could not care about anything, and it’s - god, it’s not fair. He’s stuck in this fucking bed while Diego goes around and, probably, beats the shit out of would-be muggers and journalists pick apart the book and there are going to be old people he knew, undoubtedly, that are going to see it and realise that they were selling to or fucking The Seance, and knew how pathetic and dirty The Seance really was, more so than just the implications than that book, and maybe they might start sharing their stories about him and some other journalists might pick them up, and all of a sudden Klaus feels fourteen years old again, chasing away the bone-chilling fear of his private training, naive and stupid and surrounded by hungry, hungry eyes, trying to pretend he isn’t afraid and that he’s grown and mature and happy and that he is in control and-

Klaus is incredibly grateful that Diego chooses this moment to come into the bedroom. He knows Diego is so incredibly easy to rile up, especially now, and Klaus needs to yell. Scream, really.

Diego stands in his doorway awkwardly and they stare at one another, a challenge in the air between them. Quietly, Ben sighs.

“You’ve not eaten,” he states, voice tight. “You need to come out.”

He hasn’t heard Eudora today. Maybe she’s at work; maybe she’s just out, getting space from Diego. He can’t blame her. Plus, it’ll be easier to yell if she isn’t around; at least she won’t have to deal with that, either, or the ultimate fallout.

Klaus can already see the challenge glinting in Diego’s eyes, as if he wants this chance to yell at someone just as much as Klaus does. So, Klaus rises to it; cocks his head to the side and says, stubbornly; “no.”

Diego presses his lips together, eyes hardening a bit. “You can’t just sit and waste away, Klaus. You need to eat, come on.”

“Should I-I s-stand, instead?” Klaus asks, and he’s glad Diego doesn’t soften at the stutter this time. He thinks he would start screaming if he did, but luckily for him Diego’s temper is too short for even that at the moment.

“Klaus,” he drawls, “don’t start.”

“Start w-what?” 

“Stop being so fucking stubborn and come eat,” Diego says, prowling forwards and to the wheelchair at the side of his bed; he jiggles it forwards a little, growls in annoyance, and kicks the brake out of place so the wheels will move. Klaus wonders, idly, if he broke it. He doesn’t make any movements closer to the edge of the bed and instead folds his arms over his chest.

“You c-can’t make me.”

“I can, actually,” Diego returns cockily, and Klaus ignores the jolt of fear that rises in him. Of course Diego doesn’t actually know how much Klaus hates that, how he’s grown this sudden fear about his own vulnerability and helplessness, because Diego can make Klaus do that. He can lift and carry Klaus without much hassle, could restrain him with even less hassle; anyone could do anything to Klaus and he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. He knows Diego would never hurt him this way, is only meaning being able to get him in the chair whether Klaus agrees or not, but even that is - too much. 

“Fuck off,” he bites, sharp and hot and defensive, and Diego’s jaw clenches. 

“Klaus,  _ come on _ -”

“I-I said, fu- _ fuck off _ ,” he snaps, using his hands to pull himself a little further away on the bed in case Diego makes good on his threat of making Klaus move.

“Jesus Christ,” Diego growls, and he knows the argument has tided over into something more now, claws coming out, and Klaus wants Diego to start yelling so he can, too. “Stop being so fucking difficult-”

“Then-then leave m-me alone!” Klaus exclaims, throwing his hands up, and Diego glares at him.

“You’d rather just sit and waste away here, huh?” Diego scoffs, shifting on his feet, and then his eyes slide to the side and narrow. He leans forwards and swipes the pill bottle off his bedside table; rattles the few pills still left inside. “Or no, it’s these, right? Do you get a buzz if you take enough?”

Klaus glares at him. He has been taking more than he was actually prescribed, and he does get some kind of buzz from it, just a little, nothing anywhere near what he wants, but it’s the only damn thing he can get his damn hands on. 

“Should’ve known,” Diego says, shaking his head. “Tried to give you the benefit of the doubt that you needed these, but you were just lying, again, for your precious little drugs-”

“Fuck you,” Klaus hisses, and he lashes out a hand to try and grab the pills from Diego’s grip, but misses widely and has to catch himself when his balance fails and he almost topples over. Diego holds it further away from him than necessary. 

“Even now, you just wanna fucking drug yourself up, huh? It’s pathetic, Klaus-”

“W-wh-where’s E-Eudora?” Klaus hisses out between his teeth, glaring with wide eyes, and watches Diego’s eyes flash with anger. “Nee-needs space f-from you, right?”

“Don’t fucking talk about Eudora,” Diego snaps, coming up to the edge of his bed to loom over him, and so Klaus sits up a little straighter, cuts him off before he can keep talking.

“G-got fed u-up of you p-punching holes in th-the walls, and ye-yelling at her, and-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Diego growls, and Klaus wonders if he’s going to punch another hole in the wall, or perhaps him. He throws the pill bottle onto Klaus’ lap, and he doesn’t feel it. “She’s the one letting you stay here, fucking idiot-”

And well, that one kind of hurts. The idea that if not for her, Diego would have kicked him out by now. So Klaus bares his teeth and says, “k-kick me o-out, then, a-asshole-”

“So you can drag yourself to the nearest gutter? I’m sure you’d jump on the chance, right? Fed up with those pills? You don’t even fucking try, Klaus, even after you almost fucking  _ die- _ ”

“W-why do you fu-fucking care?” Klaus snaps, fingers curling into the bedsheets over his lap, and Diego’s face twists in a ton of different emotions before settling back onto his default, anger.

“You know, I’m not really fucking sure,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You obviously fucking don’t, do you? You never fucking have every other time you ended up in hospital, when will you take your own god damn life seriously, Klaus? It’s like you  _ want  _ to fucking die!” 

The accusation makes Klaus freeze a little. It’s - touchy, because waking up in that hospital, the majority of his thoughts for the following week  _ were  _ thinking he might as well have just never woken up, that it would have been better that way. And it isn’t as if he hasn’t had such similar thoughts before. Even when he doesn’t necessarily feel such a way, Klaus-

Isn’t sure he necessarily wants to live. 

He might not want to die, but he’s always known that he’s never really wanted to live, either. Never had plans, never had goals, or aspirations, or hopes, or dreams, never looked forwards to anything more than his next hit; never had anything to keep him alive, other than dumb luck and a lack of motivation to actively try and kill himself. 

Now, though, he can’t say that those thoughts haven’t come back, even if only a little bit. 

He doesn’t tell Diego that, though. He sits up a little more, glaring darkly, and repeats, “why do y-you care?”

Diego stares at him. His tongue runs across his teeth, his chest heaves. “I don’t,” he finally says. “You’re right; I fucking don’t. Because you’re a selfish fucking bastard and you’ve always thrown your god damn life away and wasted it, I don’t know why I keep fucking trying with you when it’s obviously fucking useless-”

“T-this isn’t the fu-fucking A-A-A… Academy, you-you’re not p-playing hero, any-anymore,” Klaus hisses. “You ru-run around a-and beat up t-thugs b-because you still think y-you’re some hero - you’re n-not!”

“I help people,” Diego says, voice low. “At least I’m doing something with my life-”

“Putting h-holes in walls?” Klaus asks, raising an eyebrow, and Diego gives him a look, nostrils flaring. He comes closer, and Klaus wonders if now Diego will hit him, but instead he reaches out and curls his fingers in his shirt, and Klaus digs his nails into his hands.

“You’re coming and you’re going to fucking eat and you’re not getting another one of those fucking pills-”

“Don’t f-fucking touch me!” Klaus yells, slapping and clawing at his hands, a spark of panic running through him.

“I wouldn’t have to if you gave a shit about yourself,” Diego snaps back, and pulls him closer with a sudden yank, probably stronger than Diego himself intended, considering he lost weight while in the hospital. He hasn’t worked up his core strength either, and his balance fails him again and he falls forwards against Diego, and his legs follow after him and then fall off the bed. A jolt of pain runs up his spine that has him digging his nails into Diego’s back, and the sudden dead weight of Klaus’ body falling down has Diego tipping forwards, and they’re both on the floor, Diego just managing to catch himself before landing completely on top of Klaus, and his wheelchair makes a noise as it bangs around when Diego falls over it.

He feels sick, all of a sudden, on the floor with his legs at an awkward angle, heart pounding beneath his chest, and he couldn’t have stopped Diego or even caught himself if he tried, and it - terrifies him, how utterly helpless he is. 

Diego is suddenly very quiet as he sits up a little, awkwardly letting go of Klaus’ shirt. 

“Klaus,” he says, hesitantly.

“G-get out.”

“Klaus-”

“Get out!” He yells, tearing himself away from Diego and leaning back against the wall, one hand reaching up to grip the mattress beside him. He recoils when Diego reaches out again, repeating, much louder, “get out! Get the f-fuck  _ out _ !”

Diego lingers, eyes a little wide. 

Then he leaves.

He hears the front door open and close.

Klaus heaves for breath and, ignoring what Ben is saying to him, he swings violently between the need to punch the wall and to cry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: vague talk about drugs, underage drinking/drugs/implied underage sex, suicidal thoughts/(past) behaviors. It's all vague, in my opinion, but there.
> 
> The Hargreeves lack of emotional tact strikes again


	17. Chapter 17

It takes Klaus a while to be able to calm down, until everything fades away to familiar numbness and the tear tracks on his cheeks are cold when he wipes them away with his shaking hands. Ben has been oddly silent for a while, sitting nearby and watching him, nothing to say to him. It surprises him a little, since Ben always has an opinion on everything, but he doesn’t much want to talk to his brother either. It’s probably a good thing that Ben is quiet, then. 

He is still completely shaken up from Diego grabbing him, still feels a little nauseous from the whole situation, and he turns to look at the wheelchair nearby him, half-tipped over from when Diego fell. He can’t stay on the floor forever, but he relies on Diego or Eudora to help him whenever he needs to move somewhere - he hasn’t yet built up the strength or coordination to support himself, and he highly doubts he can lift himself up. Either he tries, or he spends however long it takes Diego or Eudora to come home, and he knows that neither will be back for hours. 

Sucking in a breath, he shuffles closer to the wheelchair, sitting it up properly, and makes sure the brake is still on so that it won’t roll away. He probably ought to try and get himself back on his bed instead, he knows, and it might be easier to do that too, but he can’t stand being in this house any longer. 

He rearranges himself and the wheelchair multiple times, trying to think of how best to move onto it whilst ignoring how his arms already feel shaky. It takes him long to do, clinging onto his bed and taking several minutes to rest before trying to move onto the wheelchair, and by the time he finally falls into the chair and moves his legs, he’s trembling and tired and part of him wishes he had just gone onto the bed instead. He breathes heavily, pushing his hair from his flushed face, tries not to think about the way Diego had just grabbed him and his instinct had been to kick out and catch himself, only for nothing to happen. 

“Klaus,” murmurs Ben, finally finding his voice again as he edges closer to him. “Are you okay?”

Klaus catches his gaze and hates the way he looks at him with so much pity, so he hurries to look away. He doesn’t want to stay in this house; he doesn’t want to keep playing this game of complying with Diego and Eudora’s generosity and all the fake optimism around him, doesn’t want to keep pretending he believes everything is going to be okay. He gives up.

He manoeuvres himself out of the bedroom and through the house until he reaches the front door. Beside it, Diego’s coat is still hung up - he left too quickly to pick it up, he guesses. He stares at it for only a moment before reaching out to search the pockets until he finds his wallet and takes all of the cash out of it. 

“Klaus,” Ben murmurs. “Klaus, don’t.”

Ignoring him, Klaus notices that Diego left the front door unlocked, thankfully, and he can carefully wheel himself over the threshold and out onto the porch, though it takes him a minute to be able to close the door behind himself. 

He has never actually been outside by himself, and he can’t imagine that it will be all that easy on him, either. But he can’t stay inside any longer, and he already knows exactly where he’s going; decided what he was going to do as soon as he decided to get up.

“Klaus,” says Ben, watching him ease himself down the ramp and onto the street. “Where are you going? I’m sure the others will be back soon, Klaus-”

“That’s w-why I’m leaving,” Klaus mutters, refusing to look at him. Ben knows where he’s going; they both know it. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs, easily keeping pace with him. “Diego was mad, he didn’t mean any of that shit, you know how he gets when he’s mad. Vanya’s book pissed him off, but he didn’t mean any of that and-”

“Y-yes, he did,” Klaus says. Diego lashed out because he’s mad at Vanya’s book, but it was his own thoughts that he voiced, and thoughts he has probably had for years whenever he dealt with him. He knows that, and he can’t blame Diego for hating him, and he can’t blame himself for giving up. 

“No, he didn’t,” Ben insists, coming around to walk in front of him. He gives that up quickly though when Klaus continues forwards and goes through him, causing them both to shudder. “Look, how about we go somewhere else? Go get something to eat, sit down for a while and calm down-”

“I’m p-perfectly c-calm,” Klaus claims, shrugging. His arms hurt and he considers pausing somewhere to give himself a break, but continues on just because of Ben suggesting he stop. He can go a little longer.

“I know everything’s shit right now, Klaus, but it doesn’t have to be and you don’t have to do this - you can do better-”

“I do-don’t want to!” Klaus snaps, finally pausing and turning to look at him. “I don’t w-want to, Ben. Ju-just leave m-me alone. Please.”

He holds his gaze for several moments, and he thinks Ben might look as defeated as he feels, but he closes his mouth for once and resigns himself to this happening. It was inevitable, and he knows it and he knows that Ben knows it, too. 

His mind skips over all of his dealers and he settles on one of the nicer ones, hoping to avoid being taken advantage of and not mocked when he approaches them. He makes his way to where he knows they hang out often as quickly as he can, although finds himself having to take a break multiple times to let his arms rest before he keeps going on.

Klaus has known Jamie for a while now - would consider himself his best customer. Jamie is nice enough that when he slept with him for drugs, it was almost like a real relationship, ignoring the way it started as basically a business transaction. He was there before he even started selling the harder shit he sold now, and he knows he can trust Jamie to not be an ass to him and to have somewhat reliable drugs. 

Sure enough, he is hanging around the same place he always is, and Klaus feels a sliver of relief. He approaches him with renewed vigour and swallows down the nerves of Jamie’s reaction.

Jamie turns at the sound, taking a step closer only to freeze when he sees him, frowning. “Klaus - shit, Klaus, that you?”

Klaus waves his hand, comes to a stop in front of him and has to crane his neck to meet his eyes - Jamie is a giant of a man, and if not for the way the streets made him a little rough around the edges, Klaus would have called him a gentle giant. 

He grabs the money he took from Diego. “I-I need to get some s-shit,” he says, showing his money but keeping his hold on it. Jamie blinks at him, absentmindedly tapping ash from his cigarette.

“Uh, yeah…” He mumbles, hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “What, uh - what happened, Klaus?”

“Do-does it matter?” He asks defensively, eyes narrowing before he forces himself to relax. “S-shitty accident. What ha-have you got?”

Jamie bites his lip, throwing a glance backwards to where his stock is probably hidden. “No one’d seen you around for awhile, some people were beginnin’ to talk, but… you break your legs?” 

Klaus resists the urge to make a noise of frustration. He hadn’t come here to discuss his accident or the way his dealers were probably beginning to get annoyed at the idea of losing a frequent customer, and he didn’t come here for Jamie to get all awkward and pitiful around him. 

“Jamie,” he says, lifting his money and making a show of displaying just how much he has. “Come-come on, I’ll take a-anything. I have e-enough for d-dope, all here,” he insists, holding his hand out, but Jamie doesn’t go forwards to take the money. 

“Man, I don’t - I don’t know, Klaus…” Jamie mumbles, stamping out his cigarette under his toe. 

“I-I have a-all the mon-mo-money!” Klaus exclaims, waving his free hand. “I just - I’ll t-take wh-whatever, Jamie.”

The brunette exhales slowly, going from scratching his neck to his bearded jaw. “That’s more than your usual,” he states, and Klaus waves his hand dismissively. 

“I-I’ll take it a-all,” he insists, holding out the cash expectantly. “I d-don’t care, come on, I - do-do you w-want more?” 

There’s a heavy sigh as Jamie looks away, shuffling on the spot. “Klaus, I just - I don’t know if I can…”

“T-this is a-all I have, but- I can - l-look, t-take this, I can - I can b-blow you, or - or wh-whatever,” he offers hurriedly, staring up at him with wide eyes and a sudden desperation curling within him. He had hoped this would have been quick and easy, but he’s come this far and is desperate enough to do anything so he doesn’t leave empty handed.

Jamie shakes his head at that, taking a step backwards. “No, no, I don’t - fuck, Klaus, I just… I don’t think I should sell to you right now,” he utters, grimacing and then looking away again.

Klaus gapes at him for a moment, feeling as if he’d just been slapped. He can feel himself being worked up, frustrated and desperate and suddenly horrifically embarrassed as Jamie refuses to meet his gaze, and his tongue ties up in his mouth. 

“I’m - J-Jamie, I’m fu-fucking pa-p-paralysed, j-just f-fu-fucking do this f-for me!” He cries out, hands slamming down onto his lap and he feels his cheeks burn along with his eyes. “J-Jamie,” he says, resisting the urge to reach out and grab his wrist. “ _ Please _ .” 

Jamie freezes, staring at him for several moments, and then he turns and walks to the end of the alleyway to pull a bag out from a small gap in the wall. Klaus almost sobs in relief, but Jamie only throws the bag over his shoulder.

“I - Klaus, man, I’m sorry, but I just - I’ve gotta go,” he says, sliding around him and heading towards the street. Klaus hurries after him, eyes wide.

“W-what? J-Jamie, you-”

The dealer pauses, hissing as he stares out onto the street. “Look, Klaus, I just don’t feel, uh… comfortable, selling to you like this, man,” he admits with a sigh, giving him an apologetic look. 

“W-what?” Klaus stammers, voice quiet. Jamie looks away again, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry, man… it’s supposed to rain all night, have you got somewhere safe to stay?”

Klaus blinks, jaw dropping. “I-I…” He trails off, throat tight. Jamie quirks an eyebrow, looking horrifically concerned. Unable to find any words, he just weakly holds up his money again, though his hand falls back onto his lap when Jamie’s face falls and his head shakes a little. 

“I… yeah. I do,” Klaus croaks slowly.

“Good,” says Jamie, looking away. “Good. I… I’m sorry, man. Take care of yourself, alright?” And then he’s gone, turning the corner and leaving him in the alleyway. 

He had accepted the idea of being made fun of, or being robbed of all the money he had, or whatever. He hadn’t expected to be straight up denied being allowed to buy anything. He and Jamie had shot up together before, when they had been closer, and now Jamie was telling him to take care of himself, to try and get somewhere safe to stay? Does he really look that pathetic that a drug dealer fucking pities him? 

Klaus doesn’t know what he’s going to do now. He’d only had one plan in mind, and that was to get as much drugs as this money would buy him, and maybe more so if he could manage to get more, and now he just - he doesn’t know what to do; doesn’t know how to deal with this situation without drugs.

A bitter laugh tumbles from his lips. He shakes his head, lips spread in a bitter grin, and he keeps laughing until it twists into something else and he brings his shaking hands up to cover his face. 

Diego was right when he said he was pathetic, then; pathetic enough to upset a fucking drug dealer. 

He is half tempted to just throw the money in his hands away since it obviously won’t get him anything useful, but once he manages to calm down a little more, swiping at his cheeks and staring up at the sky above him, feeling utterly drained and humiliated, he considers that maybe he can use it to buy alcohol instead. Surely a shop can’t turn him down. It wouldn’t be as good as the drugs would be, but at least he could drink himself into oblivion. 

Ben makes useless attempts at trying to talk to him again, but Klaus continues to ignore him. He wants to snap at him and throw bitter words until he goes away and leaves him alone, but everytime he gets close to doing so he loses the motivation and energy. He pours all of his energy into pushing himself down the street and staying on course to a liquor store. 

It feels as if moving his arms takes a tremendous effort; as if they are full of weights and being pulled down, and it takes all of his effort not to just stop where he is and refuse to move again. He feels utterly drained and pathetic, and if not for the way the ghosts have turned from distant whispers to increasing murmurs and flickering shadows, he probably would have simply stopped where he was. People moved out of their way for him, and he wonders if they all are staring at him with that look of pity and twisted curiosity; wonders if people would trip over themselves to try and help him, since he can’t do anything for himself.

If he thinks too long about it, he thinks that he might just start crying again, or just give up on going to the liquor store completely, so he forces himself to focus only on getting to the liquor store. 

He can see it down the street, and it loosens a little tension from his chest but doesn’t chase that heavy despair he feels. He wonders if he will also get turned away from here, a quiet request to go somewhere else with an apologetic look. 

It is a small struggle to manoeuvre himself inside, but at least there is no one inside besides the cashier. The aisles are too narrow for him to go through either, so he goes straight to the desk to buy whatever is behind it. His hands shake as he does, afraid that the bored looking cashier will refuse to accept his money and let him buy anything, but she hardly gives him a second glance. She probably wants him out as quickly as possible, he thinks. That is fine with him. 

He takes his purchase and cracks open the bottle as soon as he gets outside, uncaring about whatever new looks he might get because of it. If he can’t get his hands on drugs, then alcohol will have to do for now. 

He doesn’t necessarily want to go back to Diego’s, so he is slow when roaming the streets, trying to empty the bottle in his hand as quickly as possible, as if the burn in his throat might chase away the heavy numbness he has become used to. 

He is on a random street, half way through his bottle, finding it suddenly much harder to manoeuvre himself anywhere, when he hears someone call his name. For a moment he worries it is somehow Diego, before he realises it is probably a ghost - but the ghosts are too quiet now for it to be them, and it is not loud enough to be Ben, following right beside him either.

He sits up a little, unaware of when he had begun to slump over, and peers around the street. Crossing the road with one hand waved to get his attention is Dave, heading in his direction, and Klaus wishes he didn’t feel so exhausted. He remains rooted to the spot, not bothering to try and move away, even if he really doesn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment. 

He hopes Dave hasn’t read Vanya’s book. The thought makes him want to keep draining the bottle in his hand, and he stares at it rather than Dave’s casual smile, as if he doesn’t think Klaus is pathetic, like Diego does, and drug dealers do, and like he really is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby?   
> Baby :(


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end notes.

“Hey, Klaus!”

Dave crosses the road to get to him, wearing a smile that Klaus has to narrow his eyes a little to see until he is close enough. He offers an awkward, half-hearted wave before his hand falls back onto his lap and curls around the bottle there. 

“I was just heading back, how’ve you - are you okay?” Dave’s smile turns into a frown and his eyes fall onto the bottle in his hands and his frown deepens. 

“Peachy,” Klaus mumbles, frowning right back at him. 

“Did, uh… did something happen?” Dave asks hesitantly. He’s wearing blue jeans and a fitted white shirt, a soft looking jacket, a bag slung over one shoulder, and his eyebrows are furrowing close together. “Is Diego around?” He asks, turning to look around the street, but it is only them and one other person smoking and walking away from them. 

Klaus laughs at that, shaking his head. “No, no… s-stormed out, ‘n’ I left,” he says, rolling his head back to peer up at him. 

“Argument?” Dave quesses, and Klaus hums, high-pitched and airy. The reminder of Diego’s existence and the argument, if it can be called that, spurs him onto lifting the bottle to his mouth and swallowing mouthfulls of it. A hand touches his wrist gently, and it’s Dave, looking faintly concerned and fuzzy around the edges. 

“Look, I just closed up early today and I was going to grab something to eat. Do you want to come? Better than just kicking about the streets all day, huh?”

Klaus considers the invitation for a moment, staring down the neck of his bottle with a frown. “‘S not like I-I can stop ya,” he slurs to himself, sinking back into his wheelchair.

“Huh?” Says Dave, and Klaus waves him off.

“Doesn’t matter. Sure, sure, f-fuck it,” he returns. Dave smiles at him, hand still on his wrist.

“Cool, cool. Can I?” He moves his hand to the bottle in his grip and Klaus subconsciously tightens his hand on it.

“‘S mine,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Dave, who just smiles gently in return. He looks a little nervous, he thinks, but also a little fuzzy so Klaus doesn’t worry about that too much.

“I know, I know,” Dave says. “But I can put it in my bag, so you don’t have to carry it, yeah?” 

Klaus ponders this for another moment, staring at his bottle and trying to decipher just how much of it he has managed to drink. He gives up, sighing, and screws the cap back on before holding it out to Dave with a shaky hand. He can finish it later. The urgency he had felt earlier, undoubtedly aided by the fact that he is very much not sober, has faded into something sitting small in the back of his head, an odd, numb feeling of resignation and patience. He’ll deal with Dave trying to be nice to him right now, and he can face that feeling later. It is an odd sense of peace hovering over everything, and he might otherwise be worried by it - he’s sure Ben would probably have something to say about it - but he can’t bring himself to worry right now.

“Thanks,” says Dave, taking the bottle from him and putting it away in his bag. “Do you want me to, you know-”

“Please,” croaks Klaus, and so Dave begins to push him down the street, giving his arms a merciful break. He starts up a casual stream of chatter that successfully distracts him whilst avoiding bringing up Diego or why he was drinking or why he looks as if he had been crying, which is nice. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened. 

Part of him sits, waiting patiently for Dave to bring up that book himself. Anxiety bubbles in his stomach, but Dave never brings it up. Maybe he didn’t even read it. God, Klaus hopes he hasn’t. Dave is nice to him, the only person who isn’t at least a little fucking awkward around him, who doesn’t seem to care at all about the fact that he is in a wheelchair, and he needs this normalcy desperately. If Dave were to, rightfully, become disgusted with him and refuse to see him ever again, turn him away from his shop, or even speak to him and gently try to let him down, ask him to never come back; Klaus isn’t sure that he wouldn’t entirely lose it, although he isn’t sure what else there is to lose.

Dave takes him to what appears to be a quiet little diner. There aren’t many people in, and it has one of those vintage, retro vibes to it. If he were more sober, he would probably like it, but as it is he doesn’t waste much of his attention looking around.

He and Dave sit up at one table in the back. Dave opens a menu and sets it in front of him - Klaus wants to tell him that he can do that himself. “My treat,” Dave says with a gentle smile. 

“‘M not hungry,” Klaus drawls, leaning backwards. Dave tips his head to the side a little.

“I’d appreciate it if you had something to eat with me,” he insists. “Anything.”

Klaus scrutinises him, but he isn’t like Diego, disappointed and frustrated when he hardly eats or hardly touches the food he is given. He can’t be mad at Dave because of something Diego did, and so he sighs, slumping forwards to get a closer look at the menu. It takes him a while, everything a little hazy, but eventually he waves his hand. 

“I like pizza,” he says vaguely, and Dave’s smile widens.

“Sure thing. Cheese?”

“Mmm,” hums Klaus. He props his cheek up on his hand. “And, since you so  _ rudely  _ s-stole my drink, ya can b-buy me another.”

Dave quirks an amused eyebrow at him. “I think you’ve had enough just now, but the ice tea they do here is to die for.”

Klaus narrows his eyes at Dave, pouting. He’s not nearly as drunk as he wants to be. But Dave gives him a hopeful smile, and despite himself, Klaus groans. “Fine,” he mutters, and watches Dave go off to order at the bar. He comes back with two iced teas, one with a straw in it, which he hands to Klaus. He doesn’t say it aloud, but it is very good iced tea, although he thinks it could be better with a few shots of vodka in it.

“Do you want to talk, Klaus?” Dave asks gently, watching him twirl the straw in his drink. He purses his lips, delays his response by taking a sip of it. He wishes he could reach his liquor hidden inside Dave’s bag.

“‘S whatever,” he says, flapping his hand in a dismissive gesture. “What’d’you care?”

Dave hums gently. “Because I care about my friends,” he says, and Klaus stills. His immediate reaction is to laugh and dismiss him, say that they aren’t friends, that they hardly even know one another, but he freezes for just a moment too long and Dave keeps going. “And it seems like you could use someone to talk to.”

“I-I don’t need to,” he stammers. 

“It might help,” offers Dave. “I’m not one to judge.” His broad shoulders bounce in a shrug and Klaus swallows, staring down at the dark wood of the table in front of him, conflict tearing up inside him. Klaus is not one to talk about his problems; he doesn’t need to, and he isn’t sure he even knows how to.

Luckily for him, a waitress wanders over with pizza for them, setting it in the middle of the table and then putting an empty plate in front of both him and Dave. Klaus decides to ignore Dave’s offer at a genuine talk, leaning forwards to clumsily tug a slice of pizza towards himself. Dave slumps a little when he realises that the distraction broke any temptation Klaus had to confide in him, but then he starts up another little conversation with him, about nothing in particular, a gentle attempt at distracting him from what is on his mind.

And it works, at least a little bit. He’s still just a little too drunk to really care about what Dave’s saying or to process most of it, but the idle chatter is still nice and relaxing. Plus, the way Dave just talks to him, looks at him - he can almost feel normal again. It doesn’t get rid of that overwhelming sense of  _ wrong  _ he has felt since the accident, and the heavy, unavoidable knowledge of what happened, but it helps to not have other people remind him of it. 

Much to his displeasure, the food sobers him up a little and it takes all of his self-control and Ben’s soft glaring to not ask for his liquor back, or to try and steal it back from him. He’s not sure he could reach it from where he is anyway. 

Dave pays despite Klaus offering some of Diego’s money that he stole, and they head back outside, Dave pushing him down the street and continuing another story of his. “I mean, I’m not a coward, but there’s only so much pasta one man can eat, you know? And I’ve found my limit.”

Klaus isn’t entirely sure there is a limit on how much pasta one can eat, but he doesn’t call Dave out on it. His face must give his thoughts away though, because Dave’s jaw drops.

“I’m serious! It wasn’t cowardly,  _ plus _ , I could hardly move by the end of the meal, I doubt I could have physically eaten more if I wanted to. I gave up with dignity.”

“Mmm,” Klaus hums sceptically, and Dave shoots him a glare that tapers off into a smile. “I just… d-don’t think there’s a-a limit on pasta,” he murmurs, and Dave shakes his head solemnly. 

“That’s what I thought, once.”

Klaus snorts, rolling his eyes, and Dave grins at him before blinking heavily as a raindrop lands on his face. He tilts his head up to look at the sky, frowning, and hurries his pace a little, but they aren’t faster than the rain and it gets heavier quickly.

“Do you want me to take you back to yours?” Dave offers, and Klaus bites his lip, stomach dropping, but nods nonetheless. Knowing Diego’s tendency to brood, he’s sure his brother will still be out and he won’t have to run into him. His mood slips a little further, something in the back of his head itching for his attention, and he gently nods to Dave.

As the rain only gets heavier, Dave pauses, shucks his jacket off, and drapes it around Klaus’ hunched and trembling shoulders. He startles out of his thoughts, gripping it together and turning to give Dave an odd look.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, dismissing his attempts to hand it back over with ease. Klaus sits back a little, and his eyes wander over Dave a little, catching the way his shirt clings to him and how drops of rain run down his cheeks, down his neck. Usually, now would be the perfect time Klaus would make a move on someone, but he’s suddenly once more struck with the realisation that he can’t do that anymore. Dave is nice, but he doesn’t like Klaus like that, and Klaus knows how pathetic he looks now; knows that Dave wouldn’t be able to look at him and find him attractive like this anymore.

His stomach drops a little further and he sinks into Dave’s coat, staying silent until they reach Diego’s house. Dave takes him up to the front door, pushes his wet hair out of his face, and smiles at him. “Take it easy, Klaus,” he says. “Come by the cafe sometime soon, yeah?”

Klaus blinks at him, stamps out that silly little flicker of hope in his chest again, and nods numbly. Dave’s already backtracking, probably eager to get home and out of the rain as quickly as possible, and Klaus waves until he’s out of sight.

Pushing himself into the house, he realises he still has Dave’s jacket, and Dave still has his liquor.

The house is empty. Klaus is grateful for that. He sets Dave’s wet jacket aside gently, fingers brushing over it before he turns away. The house feels too empty, suffocating, echoing with the memories of earlier. He closes the door behind him and hears the way it slammed as Diego stormed out, and then he hears Diego’s voice and the words he said, and he sighs.

He had a good time with Dave. It was probably the best he’s felt since waking up in the hospital, and he wishes that he could feel so normal all of the time again, and that perhaps he could see Dave again and listen to him tell random stories once more.

It was good with him, but he knows Diego or Eudora will be home soon, and unless he decides to leave again, then he’ll have to deal with the fallout of the argument, and Diego will probably kick him out, and no dealer will take him seriously, and the ghosts will come for him again only this time he won’t have any way to stop them-

Klaus sighs.

Ben hovers nearby, watching him manoeuvre his way through the house. “It’ll be okay, you know,” he says. “When the others come back. It’ll be good to talk it out.”

Klaus knows better than to trust anyone with the last name  _ Hargreeves  _ to be able to talk things out, and he knows that it will only result in another argument and worse things happening. 

But it was good with Dave. Klaus tries to cling onto that part, tries not to let his mind race to all the negatives that it so easily can. 

“I’m going to take a bath,” he murmurs, heading to the bathroom. Ben lingers, looking around the place before Klaus adds, “alone.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding his head to the front door before phasing out of it, probably going to enjoy being in the rain without getting soaked. 

Klaus goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself. He can’t help but pause, eying all the modifications Diego did for him, and he scoffs. What a waste.

With shaking hands, he undresses himself, although it takes him a while to do and he already feels himself getting worked up when he tries to get out of the pants by himself. He ends up leaving his boxers on, tired enough from dealing with his pants and uncaring about his underwear. He lets the taps run into the bath, blinking back hot tears and exhaling slowly in an attempt to compose himself, and then he looks around. 

His eyes catch his own in the mirror and he can’t help the grimace that twists his face. He almost looks away, but something else catches his attention and there’s a sudden dawning sense of realisation.

He stretches to the sink and opens the cabinet with the mirror on it. 

There’s random stuff inside it; some painkillers, toothpaste, skincare treatments. It’s nearly empty, but there’s one thing that’s enough for him. He swipes a box down, staring at it numbly. It’s been opened, though only two pills have been taken from it. He wonders if they belong to Eudora or Diego, though he wouldn’t be surprised if Diego sometimes had trouble sleeping. 

Holding the package in his hand, he gets closer to the bath and painstakingly tries to get himself in it, though he’s shaking and still not coordinated or strong enough to support his own weight and move into the bath by himself. Water sloshes over the edges as he falls into the tub, and he flails for a moment to stop himself from slipping.

He moves his legs, tries not to focus on them too much, and lets the water run to fill the tub up a little more. He turns his attention to what he took from the medicine cabinet, eying it with conflict. 

Klaus has always resigned himself to an early death through many different means, and death doesn’t scare him so much when it’s about himself rather than the ghosts around him; not when he knows it’s inevitable, and in his case likely sooner rather than later, and when the alternative is living a life that he has never seen having a good end to it; or just a good part to it. 

He supposes this was going to happen inevitably, really, if he didn’t get kicked out and catch his death on the streets. At least this would be quicker, and kinder, really. He can focus on how he had a good time with Dave, even if it’ll make him feel a little bit guilty, and at least he’ll be in a better mindset. 

He feels bad about Dave, although they really hardly know one another and it was never going to go anywhere else anyway. He feels bad if Eudora is the one who finds him in the bathroom. He’ll see Ben shortly again anyway, probably, and Diego will get his peace from Klaus; and he’s sure his two brothers have also seen this coming anyway. 

Klaus sinks a little deeper into the bath and starts emptying the package of sleeping pills into the palm of his hand. He swallows them dry, then throws the packaging away and closes his eyes; focuses of the sound of water rushing into the tub, and thinks about the way Dave never batted an eye at the wheelchair, or pushing him, or moving tables out of the way to get him through; never spoke to him like he was any different, and lets his chest warm up with that feeling again until everything begins to go hazy with the sweet lull of sleep.

Unafraid of any nightmares this time, Klaus eagerly welcomes sleep, and slips a little deeper into the tub. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: suicidal thoughts, suicide. 
> 
> Did I lull you into a sweet, false sense of security there?


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings, again, for suicide.

Diego doesn’t mean to lash out like he does, but his anger has more control over him than he does over it, and Klaus - all of his siblings, really - is tremendously skilled in pushing all of his buttons. He doesn’t mean to lash out, but before he realises it, he and Klaus are at one another’s throats and he’s saying things to hurt, and then he leaves before he can either do more damage, listen to Klaus any longer, or attempt to make it up. 

He finds himself at the gym first, where he takes his anger out on a punching bag until his knuckles feel bruised, aching with every movement. His arms hurt a little too, and he has to take a moment to sit down and catch his breath, but in doing so he loses what energy he had to keep beating up the punching bag. He drops his face into his hands, sighing and screwing his eyes shut. 

Vanya’s book has him on edge and wanting an excuse to snap at anyone. He’s already gotten himself into multiple arguments with Eudora, who just wants to talk to him, and gotten himself into fights at the police academy as well; enough so that he’s toeing the line of fucking everything up; his relationship, his job, his social life. 

Diego can’t really bring himself to care. He’s pissed off, and hurt, and he needs to take it out somewhere, and whoever is closest to him at the time is going to end up taking the brunt of his anger. 

He thought he had been getting better at that, after finally leaving the Academy and starting up a semi-normal life for himself, but Vanya’s book just came and tore down all that progress.

Plus, he’s been worn thin with Klaus. He loves his brother, although he might not say it aloud, but it’s been stressful for him too, especially when Klaus seems to not make any effort to help himself either. It shouldn’t surprise him - Klaus has never accepted help, but rather gone out of his way to reject it and fight it all the way - but it still gets on his nerves. He wants to help Klaus, but it feels like talking to a brick wall, and Klaus won’t even give him a chance. If they were making progress towards anything, well, he’s sure Vanya’s book and their argument this morning just got rid of it. 

He understands it’s hard for him, but he’s at a loss for what to do if Klaus won’t work with him, or even just work for himself, and he’s frustrated. Whatever he does for Klaus doesn’t work and it feels almost reminiscent of all the times he’d attempted to help Klaus before and he’d thrown his help right back in his face and taken his wallet instead. 

Worked up again, Diego does another round on the punching bag until his knuckles truly do sting, and then he does another round because the pain frustrates him, and then he storms out as if the gym personally insulted him. 

For a while, he wanders aimlessly, trying to keep his mind off everything, but it always ends up circling back to the book and back to Klaus. Half of him is tempted to pay Vanya a visit, but he isn’t sure that that would be a good idea at all, and he has just enough self control to actually hold back from doing it. He’s sure that yelling at her would be at least a little satisfying, though, and although he might not go and seek her out, a part of him also hopes he runs into her on the streets.

The Academy had been hell, and he won’t lie and say he’s not entirely confused as to how Vanya couldn’t see what had been going on to all of them inside of it, but how she had seemed to have seen something completely different instead. How had she entirely missed out on how Reginald tried to turn them into weapons and treated them as such over people? As children they had all believed they were doing the right thing and that there was nothing wrong about the Academy, but they aren’t children anymore. They are all adults and can recognise that the Academy was wrong, and that Reginald was horrible.

Or at least they should be able to, but Vanya seems to still be under the impression that they had it easy being in the spotlight, using their powers. Diego thinks back to all the training he did, the sessions he still has nightmares from, and he thinks about going to missions and being afraid that he or one of his siblings won’t come back from it, and the close calls, and the time one of them actually didn’t come back. 

It hurts, to feel as if all the things he was put through was just - nothing. It makes him feel irrational, and god if it doesn’t even remind him of Reginald and his gaslighting, which just gets on all of his nerves and sets them ablaze. 

A little more composed, Diego wanders around the streets. He ought to go home, ought to see Klaus. He knows he shouldn’t have grabbed him like he had - said what he had - but he had just been so frustrated and angry that he had forgotten. He was always used to having to manhandle Klaus towards rehab; used to manhandling Klaus to get him to do anything, or else his brother would just slip away, and so he had done it again. 

He ought to go back. Ought to try and make amends, or at least apologise, but he’s sure if he went back now they would only both fall into another, even worse argument, and so he stays outside. He gets food, he wanders around, and when it begins to get late, he finds his radio in his jacket pocket, always there, and listens for any emergency calls.

He would be lying if it wasn’t satisfying to bust in on some mugging in process, or some attempted break-in, or whatever, and to be able to beat the attacker and save the victim. It makes him feel like he is finally doing something right, something good. That perhaps he can take something good from his time in the Academy. That he can help people. 

Eudora doesn’t like him going out and doing this, but Eudora isn’t here to stop him, and right now it helps. There’s blood on his knuckles and one less scumbag out there to hurt innocent people, and relief flooding through his veins. 

He washes the blood off his knuckles in a public bathroom, avoids the mirror skillfully, and then he steps back outside onto dark streets. He’s been out all day. He’s almost afraid to go back home now, afraid to confront Eudora and Klaus. Maybe he should just go and get a bed in a motel for a night, but he knows that he can’t avoid them forever, as much as he might want to. 

He still tries to delay his way back though, taking the long way back and walking slowly even despite the rain, half-tempted to stop to buy some coffee just to delay the inevitable even longer.

He doesn’t, though, and he gets home. The door is still unlocked and it doesn’t look as if Eudora has come back. There’s a jacket, as soaking wet as his own, on the table, one he’s never seen before. 

“Eudora?” He calls, but her car isn’t in the driveway. “Klaus? Klaus, is that your jacket?”

He doesn’t get any response, which isn’t surprising. He wanders over to Klaus’ bedroom. The door is open and he can already see that Klaus and the wheelchair aren't there. The room is still a mess from that morning and he feels a flash of guilt hot in his stomach, and he hurries to step out and look around.

“Klaus?” He calls, wandering around the place. He isn’t in the kitchen, that much is obvious, and there’s no reason for him to be in his and Eudora’s bedroom, although he never actually checks in there. 

Before he can even get to the bedroom door, he steps in a puddle. He pauses, frowning and immediately lifting his foot out of the puddle, wondering where it came from - then he realises he is standing outside of the bathroom, and that the puddle is large, soaking the floor outside the door. He can hear water running inside.

“Klaus? You in there?” He calls, rolling his knuckles against the door. He doesn’t get a response and so he presses his ear to the door, but the light is on and water is running. His stomach sinks. “Klaus? Bro, if you don’t say something I’m coming in, okay?” He says, hand resting on the handle. He gives his brother another second, and when there is no response once again, he tries the door.

It’s unlocked, swings open easily. He steps in and if his feet weren’t soaked already from the growing puddle outside, they would be now; the bathroom floor is coated in an inch or two of water, and it only continues to spread further out of the bathroom now that the door is properly open.

There are clothes in a wet heap on the floor, right next to a wheelchair by the bath. The taps in the bath are still on and the water is cold and he wonders how long it’s been running for. 

Draped over the edge of the bath, crossed awkwardly at the ankles, are two long, pale legs, and from where he stands Diego can’t see the upper body.

His stomach drops like lead and iron fists squeeze the air from his lungs. He feels so dizzy all of a sudden and has to brace himself against the wall to make sure he won’t fall, and then he’s rushing forwards. 

Klaus is submerged in the water, all limp and pale, eyes closed, and he almost looks peaceful. Diego doesn’t waste a second before reaching in and hauling him out of it. He’s all dead weight in his arms, head rolling back, arms locked awkwardly. They tumble awkwardly to the floor in a mess of limbs as he drags him out of it, and Klaus doesn’t react at all; doesn’t even twitch. His lips are blue, his skin paler than it was when he saw him in the hospital. 

Diego presses his fingers against his neck and ducks his head down to his mouth, but there’s no pulse; no breathing.

“F-fuck, fuck, K-Klaus,” he stammers, hands shaking in his panic. He lays Klaus down and immediately starts pumping his chest despite how nauseous and dizzy he feels, almost moving on autopilot with his medical training in the Umbrella Academy and the police academy. 

He keeps going despite how long it goes on for without a response from Klaus, unable to bring himself to stop. Water spills from his lips, joining the flooded floor, and just as Diego’s considering daring to stop to call an ambulance, Klaus finally jerks. He tries to breathe and chokes, so Diego tilts him onto his side so he can spit out water. 

Despite the fact that he’s breathing now, Klaus’ eyes remain closed and his breaths remain short and weak to the point Diego fears he might stop breathing again. He shakes his shoulders, taps his face, but his brother doesn’t wake up, and he’s suddenly very afraid of how long his brother was under the water for. 

How did it even happen? The water is still running, and his underwear is still on. He knows Klaus struggles to support himself, and his first thought is that perhaps he was getting changed and fell - hit his head and went under. It makes the most sense.

However, as he moves to pull Klaus onto his lap, sitting him up a little, he notices something else. Something glints in the bathroom’s light and he frowns. Reaching out for it, Diego stares at an empty packet of pills. Nearby, he finds the box it came in, and his heart skips a beat.

Diego bought sleeping pills a while ago. He hardly uses them, but there are some nights where the memories of the Academy are just too vivid and he wears himself thin reliving them, prefers to not sleep for days until he collapses. These help. They’ve been sitting aside completely forgotten about for a while. 

Klaus did not fall and hit his head. Klaus tried to kill himself. 

He struggles to breathe for a moment with that realisation. His hands shake over Klaus and he wraps his arms tighter around his brother, holding him to his chest, but he has to move his hands to support his head when it falls down to his chin and he chokes out more water.

“K-Klaus,” he says, voice hoarse and quiet, and his lip wobbles. He draws in air, blinks up at the ceiling, then looks back down at his brother. He balances him against his chest and reaches for all of the packaging for the sleeping pills, trying to figure out just how many he took. 

Too many, he decides, staring sickly at all of the empty packets. He took too many; it’s no surprise he’s not waking up. He took too many for it to be anything but a suicide attempt. 

If Diego had walked quicker, this never would have happened. If he had just stopped fucking around, this never would have happened. He knew Klaus had been depressed lately - he and Eudora had fucking talked about it - but he hadn’t attempted to properly talked to Klaus about it, and what if their argument this morning just tipped his brother over the edge? What had been his last words to his brother?

_You’re not getting another one of those fucking pills-_

Diego closes his eyes, shame twisting his stomach, and he holds Klaus even closer. His mind is reeling, repeating their argument, how Diego could have avoided this, the simple fact that _Klaus tried to kill himself._

_It’s like you want to fucking die!_

“I - I… I’m s-sorry,” Diego stammers, pushing Klaus’ wet hair from his face. “I… I’m s-so sorry, K-Klaus, please-”

The front door opens. Footsteps wander slowly into the house, and then, “Diego? I’m home,” calls Eudora. Diego can’t bring himself to respond. Klaus is cold in his arms, but he isn’t even shaking. He checks to make sure he’s still got a pulse, still breathing, but he doesn’t know what else to do - his mind blanks, and he just sits on the floor, holding Klaus and staring at the empty sleeping pills.

“Diego?” Eudora calls again, and he hears her mutter as she steps in the puddle. She follows it back to the bathroom only to freeze in the doorway as she sees the both of them. Diego struggles to find words to tell her something - to tell her what happened, to tell her what Klaus did, to ask for help, but the words never leave the tip of his tongue.

Eudora hurries in, turns the tap off in the bath, pulls the plug, and then turns to the both of them. “What happened, Diego?” She asks, peering down at Klaus. Diego lifts the empty pack of sleeping pills and watches Eudora’s face fall. Her own fingers seek out his pulse and he watches as she tries to figure out how many pills he took before abandoning that task when the answer is an obvious _too many._

“I - I don’t-” Diego stammers, voice tapering off, and Eudora squeezes his shoulder. 

“Keep trying to wake him up, I’ll get the car ready.”

Diego nods, watching as she hurries back out of the bathroom, and he does as she said; keeps tapping his cheeks, shaking him, talking to him. His eyes roll beneath his eyelids and then they flutter open a sliver. He twitches, a small gasp slipping from his mouth, and Diego keeps trying to rouse him more. His eyelids flutter and eyes bounce lazily around, but eventually they just slip back closed and he doesn’t respond again.

Eudora shows up in the doorway with a towel and car keys. “Come on,” she says, jerking her head in the direction of the front door. She drapes the towel around Klaus, and Diego lifts his brother up, carrying him to the car and sitting in the backseat with him. They’re still soaked, dripping all over the car, and he didn’t put any shoes back on before rushing outside, but none of that matters. Klaus is unconscious in his arms, and Diego almost lost another brother, and it would have been his own fault.

Their argument keeps playing on repeat in his head, and he utters another sorry in the tense silence of the car. Klaus hardly twitches.


	20. Chapter 20

Klaus wakes up in hospital.

It isn’t as surprising as it should be. It’s less surprising than the fact that he woke up at all.

His head aches and he feels queasy, stomach unsettled beneath his skin, and he groans and tries to squirm in his discomfort before realising that he can’t. Because he can’t feel his legs. 

The memories come flooding back in an instant and he slumps in defeat, because he’s awake. He’s awake and breathing and very much alive. When he peels his eyes open, he finds himself in a hospital room. He can’t help the groan that falls from his lips.

“Klaus?”

He groans again at Diego’s voice, but he’s noticed he’s awake already and rushes forwards to the side of his bed. His hand settles on his arm and he leans close. “Klaus? Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

“J-just… live-leave me a-alone,” he moans, turning his head away from him. He can imagine the kicked puppy look on Diego’s face but he can’t quite bring himself to care. 

He isn’t supposed to be here. He had taken as many sleeping pills as he could without throwing them back up; he had passed out and made sure he’d be able to slip beneath the water. He can feel the burn in his throat and pressure in his chest; he had been under there. He shouldn’t be alive. 

The universe always has liked to fuck him over, though. 

“Klaus,” says his brother, and he sounds so horrifically sad that it almost startles him. He remembers how angry he had been when they argued; he himself had said he didn’t care about him. The only reason the argument stopped where it did was because he couldn’t shove Klaus out of his house and he was, surprisingly, above dragging him out. Or, at least dragging him while paralysed - Klaus is sure he’s done that to him once before. 

Reluctantly, Klaus turns his head back to face his brother, squinting at him against the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital room. Diego’s eyes are red-rimmed and wide; his hair is damp. He looks at Klaus as if he just saw a puppy be resuscitated.

For a long moment, they just stare at one another. Klaus tenses, bracing himself to be yelled at, prepares himself to yell until a nurse comes and kicks Diego out, but-

Diego doesn’t yell. His lip trembles a little and his hand twitches where it rests on his arm. “ _Klaus_ ,” he repeats so gently that Klaus holds his breath. Slowly, he sits up a little, and that seems to be all it takes to make Diego act; all of a sudden he finds himself crushed against his brother’s chest in a hug. 

“D-Die-go?” He stammers, awkwardly returning the hug although he can’t move much with how tightly Diego is holding him. It’s uncomfortable and almost hurts, but when he feels the tiny tremor in his brother’s shoulders, he doesn’t pull away or resist. 

After several moments, Diego slowly pulls back, placing his hands on either side of Klaus’ face and forcing him to look at him. “What the - the _fuck_ , Klaus?” He asks, but he isn’t angry. Klaus swallows, feeling completely thrown and uncomfortable with Diego’s reaction right now, and it isn’t helped at all by how heavy his head feels and how fuzzy the world feels. He holds onto Diego’s wrists, glancing down at his lap. Diego nudges his head up a little bit to force him to look at him again.

“Why did you do that?” Diego asks him. Klaus opens his mouth to respond, but his lips fall together again quickly. Diego shakes his head slightly, blinking and looking away. “I - I found you, Klaus. I _f-found_ you, in the bath. You… you tried to kill yourself.”

Slowly, Klaus bobs his head in a single nod, and Diego looks away sharply. One of his hands fall away and he stands up a little. Klaus grabs his wrist, holding him in place although he doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

“D-ie-go, p-please,” he stammers, and Diego just blinks at him for a moment. 

“ _Why_?” He asks again. Klaus sinks back into the bed, sighing and looking up at the ceiling.

“What the f-fuck am I sick-su- _supposed_ to do, D-D… Di?” He asks in a huff, and though he is supposed to sound frustrated it just comes out as desperate. He gestures vaguely at his legs while glaring tiredly at the ceiling. He feels exhausted, the world all hazy around him, but he doesn't let himself drift closer to the soft lull of sleep. 

“I know, man, but - this isn’t it, Klaus. We can get you help, or something, but Klaus - you’re not useless or worthless, or something, just because of the accident.”

Klaus continues to avoid his gaze, lips pressed tightly together and jaw set until Diego squeezes his arm gently. Reluctantly, he looks at him again. 

“Please,” his brother says. “I’m - I’m sorry, for what I said, Klaus. I am, but - please, promise me you won’t do that again. _Please_.”

Klaus isn’t sure he can keep that promise, but with the way Diego is looking at him he can’t bring himself to say that. He nods quietly, and then Diego is hugging him again. This time, Klaus returns it; closing his eyes and propping his chin up on Diego’s shoulder. 

He can’t say that he completely regrets the attempt more than he regrets not doing it earlier or not taking more pills, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He tries to tell himself Diego really does care, but the argument still rings fresh in his ears, and words from Vanya’s book join in on it. 

### 

He finds himself once more leaving the hospital and going back to Diego’s house, and he feels as miserable as he did the first time around. 

It’s dark, late at night. Eudora’s out, getting them food to bring back once they’ve arrived, and that leaves Diego and Klaus alone together and almost starting from square one. Diego helps him out of the car, pushes him up the ramp and into the house where Klaus takes control, but before he can disappear and shut himself off in his bedroom, Diego stops him. 

“Klaus? Can we talk?”

As tempted as he is to ignore him and just go to bed, Klaus sighs and follows him to the couch. He watches Diego as he stares at his own hands, jaw set and eyebrows furrowed. Klaus is just about to ask him what’s going on when his brother finally speaks up.

“I didn’t mean it, you know.”

“Huh?”

“What I said,” he clarifies, glancing up. “The other day.”

“Oh.” Klaus throws a glance at Ben, but his brother just nods encouragingly and leaves the conversation to him. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Diego repeats. “I was mad, and I said shit that I didn’t mean, and I’m - I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said some of that, and… I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I’m sorry.”

Klaus blinks his shock aside, shifting uncomfortably in his wheelchair. There’s an ache in his back from the wheelchair and he wonders, idly, if he could get one that’s more comfortable. Toying with his lip, his head bobs in a nod of acknowledgement before he shrugs. “W-well… I said sh-shit too-”

“I was being an asshole,” Diego says. Klaus mutters a quiet agreement under his breath and Ben rolls his eyes. “But… was that why you…” His eyes flit to the door, looking all soft and sad, and Klaus tenses. Automatically, he begins to shake his head and dismiss that, but then he slumps in defeat and sighs.

“It’s ju-just - everything,” he murmurs. “This is - is ha... _hard_ to d-deal with.”

Diego nods his head as if he is capable of understanding the situation Klaus is in. “But it - it wasn’t just t-that. Not y-your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Diego murmurs, clasping his hands together and shaking his head to himself. Klaus waves a hand dismissively.

“I am t-trying,” he says. “I am. But it’s h-hard, Di. It’s fu-fucking hard.” His throat feels tight and he has to look away, blinking furiously and digging his nails into legs he can’t feel. 

“I know,” says Diego, nodding again. “I just want to help, Klaus, but I don’t know how to do that if you won’t let me help you or if you won’t talk to me. You’re my brother, and I want to help you, but I need you to meet me halfway, bro.”

Klaus sighs, nodding heavily. “I know,” he mumbles. Eyes trained on the floor, he avoids looking up at Diego as he tries to process everything being said. It’s hard to accept help now when he’s never accepted it before, and it’s hard when he feels like every direction he goes is an inevitable dead end. He struggles to be able to see an eventual good outcome for himself in this situation; struggles to figure out how he can cope with this and move past it and not be constantly weighed down by it. No matter how much he copes with it or accepts it, people are still going to stare at him; people are going to talk to him like he can’t understand them; people won’t take him seriously and there will be places he can’t even go because it’s simply not accessible to him. He can only live with Diego for so long, and Diego can only be by his side for so long.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now, doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be able to accept this easily, and he’s afraid of what life will be like for him in a handful of months - of weeks, really. 

“We can find someone,” Diego offers. “If you think that’d help? Your nurse mentioned something about it a while ago, we could find her again and ask her about it?”

“I’ve ha-had enough th-therapy in ru-rehab,” Klaus scoffs, shaking his head. Diego frowns at him.

“It might help,” he murmurs.

“He’s right,” says Ben, walking around him to stand near Diego. “It really could help, Klaus.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes at his brother, frowning down at his lap instead, picking idly at his sweatpants. He shrugs half-heartedly and hears Diego shift and sigh; he comes closer to him, perched on the edge of the couch. 

“Think about it, at least. If you think it’ll help, we can try it, okay? Do you feel like you’d… do that again?”

Klaus hates the anxiety he sees in his brother’s eyes that he put there, but he shoves his emotions down with practiced ease. “I d-don’t know, Di,” he sighs, drumming his fingers restlessly on his thighs. “I - I don’t. Not now, b-but - it’s hard.”

Diego looks away, exhaling slowly before he nods. “Talk to me instead,” he says. “Whenever. Come and get me.”

“Di-”

“Please, Klaus.”

Klaus bites his lip, unable to look away from Diego’s pleading eyes, but he struggles to promise that. Diego shifts a little closer, hesitates with his words for a moment. 

“You’re my brother,” he says. “And - and I-I can’t lose you, Klaus. Please, just - come find me. Talk to me, bro. Let me help.”

Klaus exhales the pressure from his chest and nods. Diego’s shoulders visibly slump in relief and they let tension in the air slowly fade until Klaus nods his head in the direction of his bedroom. “C-can I? I’m t-tired.”

“Yeah,” says Diego quickly, standing up and walking over to his bedroom with him, opening the door for him. He helps him onto the bed easily, helps him get comfortable without batting an eye, and then he hovers by the door.

“Klaus?”

“Mhmm?”

Diego hesitates, toying with his lower lip between his teeth. His fingers run along the door. “You know I love you, bro,” he says quietly. Klaus freezes, tensing, and he blinks his wide eyes at his brother.

“I - I know,” he stammers. Diego nods his head, exhales. He takes a step out of the room and the words catch in his throat at first, but Klaus forces them out. “I - I l-love you too, Di.”

Diego gives him a small, sad smile. “I’ll wake you up when the food’s here,” he says, and then he closes the door. Klaus stares at it for several moments, heart pounding, and then he closes his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

The following few days after Klaus’ suicide attempt lands Diego in a bit of a haze, really. 

He thinks often about their argument that day, going over everything he had said and done and thought. He rethinks the moment he opened the bathroom door and saw Klaus’ legs thrown haphazardly over the edge of the tub; the way he tensed when Diego spoke to him in the hospital, expecting another argument or yelling match to kick off. He thinks of how tired and defeated Klaus has looked since the accident, and since leaving the hospital a second time. He thinks about Vanya’s books. 

Diego doesn’t want to be angry. He doesn’t, but there’s always been this anger beneath his skin for years, probably festering from the competition in the Academy, and it only followed him into life when he left and he’s never been able to shake it since. It’s easy to be angry, to lash out, to blame others; but Diego doesn’t want to do that anymore. Diego doesn’t want to be angry anymore. 

He wants to be there for his brother - hell, he wants them to actually be brothers again, like they might have been once, years ago, before the Academy tore into them all, before the addiction, before life had been cruel to them all and they had all just been close. He cares about his family, even if there are grudges he can’t let go, and things he won’t forgive them for - he highly doubts he’ll be able to let go of Vanya’s book any time soon, not with the way she spilled all of their secrets and how she wrote them, not with the horribly coincidental timing with Klaus’ accident - and Diego’s anger just - doesn’t help at all. Diego’s anger just drives them further apart, and he realised just what that could mean with Klaus’ attempt. 

It’s hard, but he makes a conscious effort to be better after that. His talk with Klaus back at home goes, well, better than he expected, honestly. Not necessarily  _ great _ , but good enough. It’s a start. 

Then he works on fixing all the holes in the walls he made when he lashed out, and then he sits up at night with Eudora and he apologises for the things he said to her too in his fits of anger, and she holds his hand on the bed covers and forgives him even though he probably doesn’t deserve it. 

They get rid of the last of the sleeping pills in the bathroom (Eudora did that before Klaus even came back from the hospital again) and everything else potentially dangerous is also thrown out. He wants to respect Klaus and give him space, but he can’t help how he watches him closer now, checks in on him more. If Klaus is annoyed by it, he doesn’t say anything. He takes a few more days to properly rest and recover, but Diego is determined to try and get closer to him once he feels better. He doesn’t really know how to do that, but he wants to try nonetheless. 

He doesn’t expect Klaus to bounce back, and whenever he feels frustrated or overcome by worry that his brother is still rejecting his help and not meeting him halfway, all he has to do is close his eyes and imagine opening that bathroom door again, and he suddenly isn’t angry anymore. Anger isn’t going to help anyone here, and so he tries to just be patient instead.

A week after Klaus returned from the hospital, Diego drops out of the police academy. 

He’d been getting into arguments and fights and trouble for a while now, only made worse by how he acted following the release of Vanya’s book, and he finds that he doesn’t have much motivation to really commit to the academy anymore. He wants to help people, but he can’t help but feel as if this isn’t the thing for him. Plus, if he wants to help people, then he ought to start with the person living under his roof who needs him the most. 

He looks for different jobs, and Eudora helps him with that too, but he takes advantage of his newfound free time to be at home and to be with Klaus. It abates some of that anxiety he felt, wondering if he would come back home to find Klaus after another attempt, only this time he would be too late, and it also gives him the chance to actually be with his brother. 

A few days of tip-toeing around one another, Diego goes out shopping. He comes back and Klaus is pretty much exactly where he left him in the living room, idly colouring in a picture. “Hey,” he says, and he tips his head in his direction in acknowledgement but doesn’t look away from his picture.

“Hi,” he mumbles. He sets one pencil down and reaches for another colour with trembling fingers, fixes his grip on it a couple of times, and then he keeps colouring. 

Diego wanders over, sitting down on the couch beside him with his bag from shopping, and that catches Klaus’ attention. He looks questioningly at him, eyes narrowed a little, bags under them more pronounced than they were last week. 

Diego reaches into his bag and pulls a few things out. Klaus’ shoulders slump and Diego attempts to offer him a gentle smile. “I’ll do it better this time,” he says. Klaus sighs, but Diego sees fond amusement flit over his face, the way his lips twitch up in a small smile, and he knows he did the right thing. 

Klaus holds one hand out to him, and, taking it, Diego asks, “what colour?”

He points at the pink nail polish, so Diego opens that one and starts to paint his nails. He hopes he does a better job than the first time in the hospital, concentrating hard on making sure it isn’t messy. Save for pointing at the next colour he wants, Klaus is quiet, and Diego wonders what he’s thinking. Normally, he wouldn’t bother asking.

“What’re you thinking?” 

Klaus blinks at him, a little startled by the question, and then he looks aside and shrugs. “No-nothing,” he mutters. Diego drags another coat of yellow paint over his fingernail; Klaus points at the blue next. 

“You sure about that?” Diego asks, unconvinced. 

“Nothing i-im…” he pauses, pursing his lips in a way Diego knows, and then he exhales, “ _ import-ant. _ ”

“Humour me,” he says, picking up the blue polish. Klaus frowns at him. 

“‘M just turn-t _ -tired _ ,” Klaus mumbles, flexing the hand not being painted. Diego eyes him for a moment, knowing that he doesn’t really mean  _ tired.  _ Diego isn’t entirely sure where Klaus’ head is now, just under a week after his attempt, but he just hopes that his attempts at helping him and making him feel better are working. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s trying. 

“Yeah, well, you know me and Eudora are here for you,” he says, carefully doing a coat of blue polish over one of his nails. 

Klaus toys with his lip. “I know,” he says, eyes bouncing to the side and narrowing a little before looking away again. 

Diego takes his other hand and begins painting those nails as well. He doesn’t press Klaus to talk, although he would have liked if he had opened up. 

Finishing his nails, Diego does a double-check to make sure that there’s no mess left around his nails before letting go of his hand, and Klaus holds both up to inspect them. Diego busies himself with making sure none of the little bottles of nail polish are still open, then he sets them all aside on the coffee table nearby before reaching into his bag to get something else he bought out. 

“I, uh, I also got this, but-”

Klaus blinks at him, raising an eyebrow and staring at the eyeliner pencil. There is a brief glint to his eyes before he glances down at his unsteady hands and he deflates.

“Eudora could probably do it better than me, but you always did wear yours smudged out like a racoon.”

Klaus glares at him, throwing him the middle finger, but he doesn’t take his gaze from the pencil. Diego raises an eyebrow. “Want me to try?”

Quietly, Klaus gives in and utters, “o-okay.”

Diego sits down beside him and Klaus twists in his wheelchair to face him better. He looks cautious as Diego tries the pencil on the back of his hand, trying to get a feel of it, before he holds Klaus’ face still with one hand and then raises the pencil slowly to one eye. 

“Duh-don’t b-blind me,” Klaus says, and Diego gives him a look. 

“I’m not going to hit your eye, dumbass.”

Klaus hums sceptically, and Diego rolls his eyes. He has no idea what he’s doing, honestly, but it can’t be that hard to replicate Klaus’ old look of smudging it around his eyes. As long as he doesn’t actually poke his brother’s eyes out, he’ll count it as a win. He does his best, though. 

“Stop twitching,” he says, and Klaus cracks one eye open to glare at him.

“Y-you’re ho-holding a p-pencil,” he drawls, “ag-against my  _ e-eye _ .”

“And I told you, I’m not going to stab you with it.”

“Y-you have a - uh - t-tend-ency, to s-stab pe-people.”

“Ha ha,” says Diego, deadpan, but it makes Klaus smirk a little.

He swaps sides to do the other eye, and Klaus doesn’t complain this time. When he’s done, Diego sits back to study his handiwork, and then he uses his phone camera to show Klaus the final outcome. 

“Good enough?” He asks, feeling somewhat proud of himself.

“It-it’ll do.”

Diego frowns at him, face falling, and Klaus grins to himself. “I did damn good,” he says confidently, rising to his feet and ignoring Klaus’ mutter to continue talking.

“Did you eat anything?” He asks, standing up and throwing a glance to the kitchen before looking back to Klaus, but with the clean state of the kitchen and the way Klaus avoids his gaze, Diego already knows the answer. 

Good thing his coat and shoes are still on. “How about we go out and grab something?” He offers. Klaus blinks at him. He looks better with the eyeliner on, sort of. More like himself.

His eyes bounce to the door, and then he presses his lips together. “D-Dave’s?”

“Sure,” Diego shrugs, “we can go there if you want.”

“The - the coat,” he states, and Diego follows his gaze to that new, mystery coat hanging up with the others. 

“That’s Dave’s?” He asks, frowning, and Klaus nods. “How the hell did it get here?”

“Ru-ran i-into him,” says Klaus, staring down at his hands. “Was r-raining.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “You want to give it back?”

“I sh-should.”

Diego eyes it for a moment longer before he nods. He helps Klaus into one of his own jackets and into a pair of shoes, and then Klaus holds Dave’s jacket on his lap as they head outside. He’s feeling better about today - about the past few days, really - after taking a few minutes to just sit with Klaus. He hopes his brother liked it as much as he did, or that it helped cheer him up a little or just even feel better about talking to Diego. He hopes being outside again will help him somewhat, too. 

He just hopes he’s doing good. 

If nothing else, at least Klaus doesn’t seem actively sad, as they head down the street and towards the little cafe Dave works at. He replies to Diego when he talks, and even if he’s sometimes sarcastic or snarky, Diego is just happy to see his brother have a bit of humour and can’t find it in himself at all to be offended in the slightest. 

They approach the cafe, going to a table in the back like usual, and Diego notices how he doesn’t have to move any chairs to make room for Klaus. It’s a small thing, maybe even nothing, but he wonders if Dave did it, or anyone else that works here. It just makes things easier for them, something he appreciates now that he hadn’t ever thought of before.

Only shortly after sitting down does the expected man come over, looking happy to see the two of them. Dave greets them both with a smile, patient as ever when Klaus struggles to ask for a drink (and, when Diego gives him a look, something to eat) - and Diego tries not to worry too much about the stutter and aphasia, but it seems a little worse after his attempt and he makes a mental note of it. When he comes back with their stuff, Klaus leans back a little, lifting up his jacket, and Dave’s face lights up pleasantly.

“Oh! I forgot about that,” he chuckles, reaching out to take it from him with a smile that Klaus tentatively returns. Leaning closer, Dave pauses, head tipping to the side in thought. “I like your eyeliner.”

Klaus’ cheeks heat up, one hand raising to ghost his fingertips beneath his eyes. 

Diego, with half a donut in his mouth, pauses and narrows his eyes at them, gaze bouncing between his brother and Dave. 

“ _ Oh, _ ” he says, feeling a little smug with a sudden realisation. He stuffs the rest of his donut in his mouth, hastily swallowing it as he tugs his phone from his pocket. When he clears his throat, both Dave and Klaus seem to startle out of their trance, cheeks flushing dark. 

“Eudora, uh, just texted me,” he lies, standing up. “Wants me to pick some stuff up if I’m out, so, uh - I’ll just… go do that now, you know. Saves you having to pick out drain cleaner with me,” he says, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezing it. He throws an innocent, but probably a too-wide grin at Dave. “I won’t be long,” he says, taking a step back.

“Di?” Says Klaus, frowning in confusion, but Diego is already making his way to the door.

“I’ll be quick!” He promises. “Make sure you eat!”

Klaus had been happier that first time they came out here and he spoke to Dave a bit, and it seems like he even went out and saw him without Diego at least once. While Diego doesn’t necessarily want to leave his brother alone at the moment, he knows he’ll also just get overwhelmed eventually if the only person he speaks to is his brother, and maybe it’ll be refreshing for him to be out of the house and talk to other people, and Dave is nice. 

Plus, by the time he’s stepped out the door, Klaus isn’t looking at him anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diego <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some Klave

Diego’s exit was weird and completely unsubtle, but Klaus didn’t have the energy to call his brother out or argue with him, despite how thoroughly embarrassed it left him. He just hoped that Dave was oblivious to what his brother had done and wouldn’t be stuck in such an awkward situation with him.

At the very least, he didn’t act like he was aware of the horrific embarrassment Diego just put him through. He could work with that.

“Well, at least you’re spared the horrors of cleaning-supply shopping,” Dave offers, finally turning his gaze away from the door Diego exited from and back to Klaus, who snorts gently in return. He looks down at the toastie in front of himself and tears a little bit off to drop it in his mouth. He’s sure Diego will check if he ate when he comes back, and he actually feels like he can stomach this. 

Plus, he also doesn’t have the energy to deal with Ben’s nagging combined with Diego’s if he doesn’t eat it.

“I-I guess,” he says with a shrug, looking around the cafe. He’s the only customer in here, and it doesn’t seem like Dave is in a rush to really do anything. He looks down at his jacket as if remembering that it’s there, face lighting up all over again. 

“Oh! Thank you again, by the way,” he says. “I totally forgot about this - you could have come in wearing it and I would have thought it was yours. It looked better on you anyway.”

Klaus’ cheeks heat up gently, dusting a gentle pink, and he distracts himself by tearing his toastie apart again, melted cheese sticking to his fingers. He shrugs again, tipping his head to the side. “Uh, i-it was too - too big,” he states, and Dave offers a smile. 

“Maybe, but you pulled it off,” he says. “Like, you could have started a fashion trend.”

That actually manages to make Klaus laugh lightly, giving Dave a sceptical look. Dave just nods his head all eagerly. “You could!” He insists, nodding to the jacket slung over his arm. “And anyway, it’s cold out and, like, every time I see you, you’re never wearing a jacket. Or is  _ that  _ the fashion trend you’re trying to start?”

Klaus playfully rolls his eyes. “May-maybe I’m n-not f-fash - uh-” the word gets stuck somewhere in his mouth, twisting itself up on his tongue, refusing to leave his lips no matter how much he says it in his head and tries to force it out. 

Dave doesn’t rush him, but when it’s clear that he’s struggling more than usual with the word, he offers, not rudely, “fashionable?”

A little relieved, Klaus sighs and nods, and Dave scoffs incredulously. “I doubt that,” he says. “The nails alone are enough to convince me you’re actually some secret supermodel.”

Klaus snorts, glancing briefly at his brightly-coloured nails. “You - you like th-them?” He asks, a warm feeling in his chest as he wiggles his fingers, and Dave nods enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! The colours are so nice! I wish I could do mine but I’m, uh. Really bad at it.” His hand comes up, scratching the back of his neck as he offers a sheepish smile.

“Di - Diego d-did them,” he states a little proudly, and Dave quirks an eyebrow. 

“I knew he was a softy,” he says, and Klaus laughs a little. Diego, for all he liked to pretend he was a tough guy, was all soft on the inside. Klaus had been saying such for years now, though usually it often got him a punch to the shoulder. 

Dave shifts his weight from foot to foot, throwing a glance around the empty cafe, and then he nods to the seat Diego vacated. “Mind if I sit?” He asks, and Klaus gestures at the seat for him to take it. “God, it’s been so boring here lately,” he admits, sinking back into the seat with relief. “No one’s come in with any good gossip in a while, and I feel like I’m just turning out sandwich after sandwich. I’ve made so many sandwiches, Klaus, so many. And I’ve not even eaten a single one of them!”

Chuckling a little, Klaus nudges his plate in Dave’s direction, eyebrows raised. He reaches out, tears his toastie in half and holds one half out to Dave, who eyes it temptingly.

“You were supposed to eat that,” sighs Ben in a whining tone, but hey - at least he’s still eating some of it, and it isn’t as if he can’t have more later. 

“Thank you for your generosity,” says Dave, and in return he scurries briefly away and comes back with a couple of pastries that Klaus has never seen before. He tries it, though, because Dave looks so proud of it and it isn’t even on the menu yet and he feels honoured. It tastes incredible, crumbling on his tongue, and Dave lights up at Klaus’ pleased reaction.

“I found the recipe online,” he says, dabbing at his mouth. “Been trying to perfect it for, like, weeks now.”

“It’s v-very go-good,” comments Klaus, smiling gently. 

“I trust your feedback,” hums Dave, still looking very pleased with himself. Ben looks a little jealous that he couldn’t try it, and Klaus can’t blame him. 

Considering he hardly knows how to cook, he isn’t sure his opinion is all that reliable, but he meant what he said and that the pastry  _ is  _ incredible. He wouldn’t be opposed to having more, but he doesn’t want to ask. 

Not that he has to. Dave sees him glance back at the plate with longing written all over his face and he scurries off to go get more to bring back for the both of them to snack on absently as they talk. With no one else in the cafe and no pressing chores to do, Dave is happy to sit down and chat away with him - talking about nothing in particular, complaining about how boring it’s been, the lack of gossip without one of his regulars, telling him about his neighbour’s cat - some chubby thing that keeps trying to break into Dave’s apartment because Dave always keeps a couple of bags of treats around for it. Dave even takes his phone out to show him photos of the pet, and Klaus coos at it, and so does Ben. In showing him the photos, he shuffles his chair closer to Klaus’ - it’s easier than leaning across the whole table, of course. 

Dave talks to him so casually, so pleasantly, that for a while Klaus can almost forget the mess that has been his life (specifically, though, in the past few months, and even more specifically in the past week) and he can actually enjoy a conversation. He speaks with Dave more than he’s probably spoken to Eudora, or Diego, or Ben, honestly, and it’s a bit nerve-wracking still with his stutter, but Dave isn’t rude or impatient, only offering a word when it simply won’t leave his lips, and eventually, the nerves and embarrassment that comes with stumbling over all his words begins to lessen. 

Of course, it’s still  _ there,  _ but for a little while he can overlook it, and it helps soothe some of his constant inner turmoil. 

He isn’t sure how long he and Dave spend talking and picking at pastries. Luckily for him, no other customers come in to disrupt them, and even Ben leaves after a little while - probably just going for a walk like he often does, though he only leaves his side nowadays if there’s someone else around. Klaus pretends he doesn’t notice. It’s not like he can exactly blame him.

It’s almost odd how a simple interaction can make him feel better than he has in a long, long time. There’s a pleasant warmth in his chest, a small ache in his cheeks from smiling; his stomach is full of pastries, and there’s no tension in his shoulders. He isn’t sure if  _ good  _ would be too much to describe his mood at the moment, but it’s something close to it. 

Engrossed in conversation with Dave - this time about some book Dave was reading. Usually, Klaus couldn’t be bothered with listening about books, but the way Dave speaks is different. He’s so enthusiastic and passionate when he speaks; there’s a bright glint in his eyes, and his hands wave around in wild gestures, his voice picks up in volume. Klaus is captivated, and he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

So, he doesn’t notice when the door opens and someone walks in; not until he’s basically right by him and Dave.

Diego’s hands drop down onto the table with a loud bang, and both Klaus and Dave startle, jumping in their seats. Diego greets them with a shit-eating grin, and he slides a couple carrier bags down his arms to set them on the floor. 

“Forget all about me?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at Klaus. With his appearance, Ben makes a return to, materialising over Diego’s shoulder. He glances over his shoulder to peer out the windows, trying to gauge how long he thinks it’s been since Diego left. It’s dark outside, though it gets dark early now. Klaus can see the reflections of brightly coloured Christmas lights outside, beyond Dave’s own sparse decorations up (did he always have them up?). It doesn’t offer much of a hint towards the time. 

God, is it only Christmas? He’d left the hospital somewhat early into December (right? Or had it been mid-December? Somewhere between the two? Honestly, he can’t remember and he can’t even guess.). It feels like too much has happened for it to still be the same month he left. Has Christmas even passed yet? He has no idea - he, Diego and Eudora have been rather preoccupied, and he hasn’t been paying any attention to the days (they’ve all been blurred since the moment he woke up. His entire sense of time has been skewed, honestly, probably yet another side-effect of having his body slammed into the road and broken up, and he might want to mention it in case it’s a bit more than the depression blurring things together, but although he might be making a little more of an attempt at trying to live again, he’s still not really facing everything head-on. He isn’t sure he ever will.)

“Hey,” greets Dave, offering him a smile and standing up to offer the chair back to Diego, although his brother shakes his head, waves him off. He eyes the little plates spread out on the table, the crumbs and the remnants of food, and his shoulders seem to relax a little. Klaus ignores it. 

“How’s it going?” He asks, looking between Klaus and Dave. 

“Gone - ah, get the duh-drain c-cleaner?” Klaus asks sarcastically, glancing down at the carrier bags he brought with him, but he can’t quite peer inside them. Diego blanks for a moment, looking as if he has no idea what Klaus is talking about, before realisation dawns on him.

“Oh, yeah. Mhmm, got what I needed,” he says. “All good while I was gone?”

Klaus hums, glancing at Dave and unable to stop the small smile that tugs at his lips. He has, admittedly, had a good time. The normalcy Dave brings is just so soothing, and he’s funny, and kind, and a great baker, and passionate, and handsome, and just so god damn  _ nice _ . It almost amazes Klaus how good one person can be, especially towards someone like himself. As much as he’d hate to admit it, getting out of the house and having this time with Dave has lifted his mood considerably.

It’s odd, and almost a little scary, to dare to feel  _ not-horrible  _ like this. Like it’s wrong to find some comfort, or humour, or happiness, when he’s still in a wheelchair, still stuttering, still shakily sober, still  _ paralysed _ . He’d felt absolutely horrific and miserable since the moment he woke up from his coma, and it was unfathomable to picture ever being able to focus on anything except his new state of being; to be able to smile and laugh. It still is, honestly, and part of him is just waiting for the other shoe to drop - waiting for it all to go horribly, horribly wrong, and for Diego to not get him out of the bath quickly enough next time. 

But Klaus doesn’t want to feel like that. He’s had a surprisingly good time today, and he doesn’t  _ want  _ to wallow in misery and depression for however long it takes him to - what? Waste away? Get kicked out? Die? He wants to feel better. He wants to find some kind of peace - or not even necessarily peace, he can’t imagine that, but some form of acceptance, perhaps - and wants to stay away from the dark mindset that shadows him, threatening to swallow him whole everyday.

Maybe this is just him finally coming around to acknowledging that this is real, and that nothing he can do will change this, and that this is his life now. He knows, logically, that there’s nothing he can do, and he knows, logically, that it won’t be easy, but he can try to process this and accept help and try to live this new life, or he can just give in to the tempting call of the mind-numbing depression that’s plagued him since waking up. 

God, it’s exhausting to even think about either option, but he’s sure Ben would be proud of him for finally considering the possibility of actually living like this without expecting to be dead within a month. That’s a step in the right direction, right? Beginning to consider the possibility that there even  _ is  _ a right direction? 

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up - knows that they’ll get snuffed out almost immediately, that a sudden flicker of something akin to hope, or determination, or progress or  _ whatever _ , doesn’t necessarily mean anything, and that the negatives still outweigh the positives for him. 

But it  _ could  _ mean something, and Klaus isn’t going to go out of his way to snuff it out himself. 

Diego makes small talk with Dave for a few minutes, but he knows it’s (probably) getting late and they ought to go home and so should Dave, and all too soon they’re beginning to leave. Dave, of course, follows them out to the door, holding it open for them, and says goodbye.

Just as Diego wheels him out onto the pavement, however, Dave speaks out again. 

“Hey, Klaus?” he says, and when Klaus brings his gaze back over to him, he sees him toying with his lower lip between his teeth. “It was nice talking to you,” he states. “I, uh. I’d like it if you wanted to hang out anytime?”

Klaus’ stomach (and heart, and probably all the rest of his guts and organs) does a funny thing inside of him, fluttering and twisting. There’s a flicker of sudden hope rising in him, and he’s denied himself it since the moment Dave caught his interest in the slightest, but he can’t help a small part of himself trying to hold onto it now. 

He realises he’s waiting for some kind of response, and Diego too, so he struggles to find his tongue but it seems to be all tied up (worse than usual) in his mouth, so he just smiles and nods his head. That’s good enough for Dave, because he reflects his smile and then bids him and his brother a goodbye. 

He can virtually feel Diego holding himself back from teasing him about that, which he’s partly grateful for. He knows Diego means well, but like he said before, it’s way easier to be negative than positive at the moment and his emotions are always one little thing away from flipping wildly, and he’s trying his best not to let the little warmth in his chest fade out too quickly. 

Instead, Diego just offers him a grin when he helps him into bed that night, and says “sleep well, bro,” with more meaning than usual. If Klaus didn’t stupidly appreciate it, he would have rolled his eyes.

### 

He sees Dave again.

He’s weighed the pros and cons over the past couple days, which has really just been depressing and he had to stop himself eventually and just say fuck it. He knows how to read people, and Dave had seemed interested in him, and he’s certain that him asking to meet again was his attempt at shooting his shot - Ben says so too, and Diego hints at it as well. And it’d be a lie if Klaus said he wasn’t at all interested in Dave either. It should be easy, then. He should just go and see Dave, have a good time, and see if anything more happens.

But then that darkness comes back and reminds him of his too-thin body, and the bags beneath his eyes, and the scars from the accident, the horrible ones beneath his shirt, and his stutter, and the fact that he’s in a wheelchair and half his body is paralysed, and how the hell could Dave find him attractive like this, when he’s lost his silver tongue and the way he’d been able to captivate people with his body?

It takes Ben’s reassurance and encouragement to convince him to see him again, honestly, otherwise he probably would have just talked himself out of it and wallowed for a few days in bed again. 

Diego helps him get ready the day he decides to go down, helping with his hair and eyeliner (that his brother is getting better at doing) and then mother-hens him about getting there, offering to walk or drive him there, insisting to take him there, but Klaus can get himself there by himself and wants to do it, and plus, Diego has an interview for some new job. 

So, Klaus leaves by himself (with Ben, of course,) and begins the trek to the cafe at a slow pace before he can talk himself out of doing it again.

It’s Dave’s day off. Diego made sure to check (hell, he helped organise the whole thing, honestly - which is also partly why Klaus didn’t back out of doing this again) but the cafe is a nice meeting point, and Dave is standing outside when he gets there, dressed in nice pants and a fuzzy-looking jumper and a warm, incredibly comfortable looking coat.

When he looks up from his feet and catches sight of Klaus, he visibly lights up, smiling and walking over to meet him.

“Hey!” He greets, bright and chipper, and his eyes bounce over Klaus, taking him in before looking back up and smiling again, and fuck it, if this whole situation goes south, Klaus will deal with that later. For now, he mirrors Dave’s smile genuinely, and doesn’t snuff out the happiness that rises up in his chest.

Ben, happy that Klaus got there safely, steps into his line of sight and offers a smile and a wave. “See you around, bro. Have a good time,” he says, and Klaus doesn’t have a chance to reply before he disappears. Klaus turns his attention to Dave.

“S-so,” he says. “Where to?”

### 

It’s a nice day, if a bit cold. The sun is out and the sky is clear though, and the nip in the air is really only a problem for his hands pushing himself forwards on the wheelchair by the wheels. He tries to keep it up for as long as he can, because he wants to be by Dave’s side and doesn’t want Dave to have to push him, but his fingers are almost painfully cold. Still, he grits his teeth and bears it.

Of course Dave notices, and then he gets all apologetic for not noticing sooner, and it isn’t as awkward as Klaus feared when Dave steps behind him to push him, letting Klaus pull his coat sleeves over his hands and try to bring back some warmth into his fingers. 

It’s nice being outside though, despite the chill. Conversation falls easily between them, and with all the Christmas decorations in the streets and buildings around them, it’s pretty to just look around. Dave goes out on walks often, he says - he finds it soothing and just nice to be outside, to go wherever, to wander aimlessly and just be able to actually look at the places around them, with no urgency pressing on them. Admittedly, Klaus has to agree. He’s never just taken his time to just… exist, and appreciate his surroundings, with no rush of drugs distorting everything, no rush to get his next fix, no running from angry clients or partners or dealers.#

It’s surprisingly nice. Klaus finds he wouldn’t mind just spending a day wandering aimlessly with Dave, exploring places he never even knew existed. They find a record shop tucked into an alley, and Dave’s eyes light up at the sight of it so they just have to go in. 

Dave’s passion for music jumps out, that glint in his eyes coming back, hands waving around the place as he talks about records and albums and bands to Klaus, analysing lyrics and song titles and album meanings. Klaus finds himself hanging on to every word. 

The records remind him of Luther, and he can’t help but think of his brother up on the moon, all by himself. He probably misses his record player. 

They leave the record place and Dave has a bag with a few new records in - he showed Klaus them, eager to talk about them and Klaus was eager to listen. He might not understand half the stuff Dave was saying as he talked about the bands, but it didn’t matter much; he was just happy to listen to Dave talk about something that made him so happy.

After the record shop, they head back out, wandering for a while and taking a detour through a small park. Klaus has never been here before, but it’s quiet, barely anyone else around - alive or dead - and it’s relaxing. Dave guides him through the path leisurely, and they fall quiet here, as if both just revelling in the peace and the nice atmosphere - the sound of birds around, little robins flitting around the place, and the feeling of wind running through their hair, chilling their skin with cold caresses, and just enjoying one another’s presence. 

Klaus isn’t exactly familiar with stuff like this - ‘hanging out’ as he and Dave are, and yet this seems natural. There never felt like there were expectations when he was talking to Dave, no pressure to act or perform a certain way, no build up to the main event Klaus expects with everyone else. This is something else entirely, and it’s incredibly nice, and he can’t imagine anything else with Dave. 

They take a break in the park, for a while. There’s one small burger van nearby and Dave buys the both of them a hot drink to nurse as they sit down and they just talk, and Klaus has never had such casual, pleasant conversations before. He feels as if he could just talk to Dave for hours - that he’d never get bored of listening to him. 

Plus, it gives him an opportunity to learn more about him.

He’s the same age as Klaus. He has a younger sister studying medicine in another state. He isn’t close with his parents, but he’s made a tentative sort of peace with their rocky relationship - he doesn’t seem hurt when talking about them, but he does have a defeated sort of resignation to himself instead. He doesn’t dwell on it long, eager to lighten the conversation quickly. He gave up smoking three years ago, and he’s wanted to write a book for ages but can never sit down and do it. Klaus knew this from the record store earlier, but Dave mentions it again - he loves old music, and he collects records. He once entered a nature photography contest and won (he brings out his phone and proudly displays the photo that got him the win - a picture of two robins on a winter night, background a blur of bright Christmas lights.) 

He doesn’t prod about Klaus’ life - he seems to also be good at reading people, and at first the idea of Dave being able to easily read him shakes him up a little bit, but he’s honestly grateful for it in the end. Other than a couple of stories of Diego to make him laugh, Klaus doesn’t want to talk about his life or his family right now. (Not Allison, off living the high life in LA; not Luther, doing Daddy’s bidding until Dad got so sick of him he sent him to the moon; not Vanya, who - well. The book is a fresh wound. And least of all his life in the past couple of months and his life before the coma.)

Dave gets that, and he doesn’t press. 

Time goes too quickly. It gets dark early, and the streets get a bit busier, but Dave seems to know the place like the back of his hand and knows where to go so it doesn’t feel so cramped (another thing Klaus feels grateful for. The less people, the less ghosts. The less people, the less to look at him, and he still recoils whenever strangers scrutinise him now, feeling too exposed and vulnerable nowadays.)

Klaus, for a moment, wonders if he’s psychic. He just seems to know exactly what to do, where to go, what to say. A warmth settles in his chest and it grows throughout the night, grows each time he catches Dave’s blue, blue eyes and he smiles at him. 

He wonders how someone can be so good, and be so good to him.

Dave hums, leading him down another street - this one’s a bit busier, but there’s things set up here, and it catches his curiosity, and then Dave leans closer to him and says, “by the way, I’m not psychic.”

Klaus startles a little, turning to face him, but Dave just chuckles. “You said that out loud.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, and he’s glad it doesn’t seem like he said the rest out loud. He settles back down and offers a smile. “You-you seem l-like it.”

Dave snorts. “I wish. It’d be so much easier to work customer service if I was,” he says, then pauses. “Or maybe not, actually. Maybe I don’t want to hear what some customers think.” He feigns contemplation for a moment before shrugging it off, then gestures ahead of them. Closer now, Klaus sees that there are a few stalls set up, full of different things - little decorations, handmade jewellery, cozy looking scarves. 

Klaus can’t help but linger at the jewellery, eyes caught on all the fancy pieces. A lot of them have funky crystals woven into them - some on pendants, some on rings, some on earrings and others in tiny pieces dangling from bracelets, and they all look fabulous. It reawakens an old part of himself that hasn’t been seen since the coma, all excited about accessories and fashion, feeling as giddy as he did when he raided Allison’s closet back as a teenager in the Academy.

Dave shows off a wood-carved little moose, but he seems to catch the way Klaus keeps getting drawn to the jewellery, and peers at it over his shoulder. “These are nice,” he comments, eying Klaus curiously. Klaus just hums, studying a necklace with an obsidian pendant. Dave follows his gaze, stepping to Klaus’ side and resting a hand on his shoulder. (Klaus tries not to jump a little at the touch.)

Dave just looks at him, smiles, and asks, “do you like that one?”

Klaus shrugs the shoulder not under Dave’s hands, looking away. Diego gave him some money before he left, telling him to have a good time, but he wasn’t really paying attention and doesn’t know how expensive the necklace is. “It’s n-nice,” he murmurs, then leans back in his chair. “L-lets keep la-looking-”

Dave squeezes his shoulder gently (Klaus feels him absently run his thumb along it too) and reaches out with his other hand, plucking the necklace up and holding it out to the stall vendor before fishing out his wallet.

Klaus reaches out, putting his hand on Dave’s wrist and shaking his head - just because he likes it doesn’t mean he needs it or that Dave needs to buy it for him - but Dave just keeps smiling at him, eyes crinkling around the edges.

“It’s - it’s f-fine, D-Dave, no, you-”

“I want to get you it,” Dave states, handing money over, and Klaus blushes.

“You duh-don’t have t-to-”

“I know, but I want to,” he insists. As soon as he’s got the necklace back, he steps behind Klaus, and he can feel his fingers brushing his hair out of the way gently, then brushing against the nape of his neck as he puts the necklace on for him. Goosebumps rise up on his skin in the wake of his touch and all Klaus can hear for a moment is the roaring of his own heart in his ears.

Then Dave is in front of him again, straightening the crystal. “It looks good,” he says, hand lingering by his chest for a moment. Klaus can’t tear his gaze away from Dave’s eyes, twinkling in the streetlight. 

Dave stands, and the moment isn’t necessarily broken. It settles comfortably around them like an aura, warm and casual and constant, refusing to be just some fleeting feeling that Klaus can shake off. It excites him as much as it scares him and makes him dread the idea of it crumbling apart when he realises that he was looking too far into this; that it isn’t reciprocated. 

He’s quieter as they idly browse the other stalls, offering smiles instead of words, heart rushing faster beneath his ribcage. The fears and doubts he held towards Dave suddenly come back and he’s unsure of himself all over again and unable to shake the feeling.

Dave buys them food from another stall, something that warms his hands and his stomach, but is cold by the time he finishes it - unable to do more than just pick away at it slowly. Dave doesn’t comment. 

It’s getting later, he knows, which means that sooner rather than later, this is going to come to an end, which means that Klaus is going to have to face his fears and accept that they are real and he was being too hopeful. He won’t blame Dave, of course. He’s childish to expect him to feel the same way he does to someone like Klaus. People don’t like people like him. People don’t love people like him; it’s something he’s known even way before the accident, the coma, the paralysis. 

Dave doesn’t seem to pick up on his sudden nerves or his thought process, and he just tries to enjoy the rest of their time together, pushing through the rapidly approaching darkness in his own head, threatening to drown everything else out; to devour him again. 

He finds his hand drawn often up to the new necklace hanging from his neck, gripping and toying with the pendant as if it brings him comfort. 

“I know it’s getting late,” Dave says at some point - things have begun to blur again with his nerves, no matter how hard he’s trying to stay grounded and present for Dave. He’s still pushing him - has been for the whole day. Klaus feels bad; wonders if his arms hurt. Dave hasn’t complained. Of course he hasn’t - he’s too polite, too kind; too good (for people like Klaus.) “And I’m not entirely confident that Diego won’t, like, threaten me if I keep you out too late - sorry, it’s a little bit intimidating when he’s, like,  _ covered  _ in knives, I can’t compete with a knife - so I can walk you back? If you’d like. There’s, uh - oh! There’s this really good stall we can pass on the way, they do really good cakes, you’ve got to try one. Only if you want to, of course, but they are really good.”

Klaus’ lips twitch despite himself and he runs his thumb over the pendant. “If - if you want,” he murmurs gently, and Dave has to lean closer to catch what he says. He’s happy enough to take him there, buying him another thing today, and Klaus feels like he can’t even stomach it, let alone muster the energy to even unwrap it.

They head in the direction of Diego’s house again, but stop in a quieter area, sitting by a bench with the intention to eat the little cakes. Klaus forces himself to open it, but he picks off a small piece of the corner - a crumb, really - and puts it on his tongue and it tastes sickly sweet right now.

After a minute of watching him, Dave shuffles closer and says, “hey, are you okay?”

Klaus doesn’t look up, but he nods his head. He tears off another piece of the cake and watches it crumble apart. Dave’s lips purse and he sets his own cake aside to give him his full attention.

“I’m not sure I believe that,” he says. “Do you not like the cake? I can get you a different one-”

“The-the cake’s fuh-fine,” Klaus blurts, shaking his head rapidly. God, why is Dave so nice to him? How much money has he even spent on him tonight, with warm drinks and the necklace and dinner and cakes? 

“Okay,” he says easily. “I’m sorry for keeping you out so late, if that’s it. I just, uh-” he glances away, curling one hand around to scratch at the back of his neck, looking a little bashful. “I just really liked talking to you, and I have today as well, and I wanted to get to know you better, y’know? And I’ve had a really good day with you, and I was going to ask if you’d… want to do this again, but - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just thought you felt the same, but-”

Klaus shakes his head, stomach dropping, and he glares at his hands. “Y-you d-dont l-l-luh-” he inhales sharply, curls his hands into fists. “ _ Like  _ m-me, like that. D-don’t ha-have to  _ lie. _ ”

Dave blinks at him. “What?”

Klaus refuses to meet his gaze for another long moment, but then forces himself to do so. “You do-don’t  _ like  _ me, l-like that,” he repeats firmly, because he can’t. He just can’t. People don’t like people like Klaus for anything more than a placeholder to have to warm their bed for a while, but Klaus can’t construct smooth sentences to make Dave blush anymore; can’t stand and catch his eyes through a crowded room and make everyone else seem insignificant to catch his attention. There’s no reason for Dave to be interested in Klaus. 

Except, he realises with rising horror, maybe, for a joke.

“Klaus, what?” Dave echoes incredulously, blinking as if to snap himself out of a trance. “But I’m serious - I do-”

“Y-you  _ ca-can’t _ ,” Klaus grits out, because this is just painful, now. He feels like he’s being taunted, now. Can’t Dave just come out and say it? Agree with Klaus and get this over and done with?

Instead, he shuffles closer, perched right on the edge of the bench, knees almost touching Klaus’, and he ducks his head to catch his lowered gaze.

“Why can’t I?” He asks, tone horrifically gentle, and it provokes Klaus into lashing out defensively, as if if he sounds angry enough, he can push Dave away and not be the one to get hurt. But it comes out more hurt and upset than it does angry.

“Buh-because y-you can’t!” He insists. “I-I-I - I’m  _ me _ , and - and I f-fuck th-tha-things up, a-and I’m just - just so-some w-weird j-junkie, and I-I can’t even t-talk and I-I - I’m fuck-fuck-ing  _ pur-pa-ralysed _ , and - y-you can’t!” He almost gasps for breath when he’s done, and his eyes sting with frustrated tears, his tongue tripping over words worse than usual as he gets worked up - which, of course, only works him up even more, and only proves one of his points. He tries not to let them fall, but he feels one drop overflow and slip down his cheek anywhere as he glares pathetically at Dave, his last attempt to be the one to put a stop to this instead.

“Klaus,” he says, still so gentle, and he reaches out to put a hand on one of his shaking fists. “You’re wrong. I don’t see some - what? Annoying ex-junkie,” Klaus knows he’s only basically saying his own words back at him, but he can’t help but flinch at hearing them from Dave’s lips. “I like you, and I like you because I think you’re funny. I think you’re kind, and smart, and witty, and interesting. I think you’re a nice person, and I want to get to know you more, if you’d let me.” He holds Klaus’ gaze as he talks; refuses to let him look away, even when it just makes another tear run down his cheek that he can’t stop. 

Isn’t this what he wanted, though? Then why does he feel so goddamned sad?

Dave squeezes his fist, and keeps talking when Klaus doesn’t reply. “I think you’re brave. I think you’re strong. I don’t care if you have a stutter, Klaus, or if you’re paralysed - I don’t care about that. I like  _ you.  _ I like you how you are right now. It doesn’t change anything; you’re still funny, and smart, and interesting, and admirable, and beautiful, Klaus.”

Klaus’ breath hitches and he lets his eyes flutter shut for several moments. A shudder runs through his body and when he opens his eyes, Dave is even closer, and there’s no hint of amusement, or sarcasm, or lies in his face, in his tone, in his eyes. 

Weakly, Klaus says, “y-you can’t.”

Carefully, Dave brings his other hand to Klaus’ cheek, touch feather-light, letting him pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t. His thumb swipes along his cheek, beneath his eye. “But I do,” he says, with no hesitation or doubt. Something in Klaus crumbles; all the fears that had plagued him that he was unlovable, unlikable, even; all the worries that people would reduce him to just what they saw and heard, not looking deeper, unable to see past the stutter and the wheelchair. 

He knows Ben and Diego could, but those are his brothers. As much as he appreciates their support and believes them, it doesn’t help soothe the worries he has in regards to other people, and a part of him had needed this reassurance. 

Dave swipes at the wetness on his skin, and when Klaus leans even closer, wrapping his arms around him in a hug that Klaus returns eagerly, desperately, in need of the comfort. Fingers card through his hair, and Dave keeps murmuring soft reassurances to him, and Klaus screws his eyes shut and tries not to let everything overwhelm him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break in updating, especially so close to the end of this fic, but thank you for reading :)  
> I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments <3


	23. Chapter 23

Dave doesn’t break the hug until Klaus does. He lets it go on for a while - for as long as Klaus needs it - and Klaus takes advantage of that to draw it out. He hadn’t realised how much he had just wanted to be hugged; to be held and comforted. 

While he has support from Diego, Ben and Eudora, he doesn’t feel entirely comfortable to go to them for comfort like this - and it’s not as if this is even possible for him to do with Ben - and it’s just nice to have this. It helps calm him down and helps soothe him, and it makes him feel as if Dave does actually care - that he meant what he said, makes it all more believable. Klaus isn’t one to get his hopes up, but maybe this time he could let that happen.

When he manages to compose himself a bit, eyes drying, Dave keeps him in a gentle embrace, running one hand up and down his back absently, the other one resting on his shoulder in a comforting grip. It stays there when Klaus eventually pulls back, deciding the hug has to end sometime. He brings one of his own hands up to swipe at his damp eyes and cheeks, sniffles a little, and meets Dave gaze with his own wide eyes.

“S-sorry,” Klaus murmurs awkwardly, and the corner of Dave’s eyes crinkle with a gentle smile. 

“Don’t be,” he says, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s fine. But I was telling the truth, Klaus.” His voice goes gentle again, and after a moment of hesitation, he rests one hand over Klaus’. Toying with his lip, Klaus stares at their hands, conflicted and hesitated, before his shoulders slump a little and he curls his fingers around Dave’s.

“I b-be-lieve you,” he murmurs. He does, now - or, at least he’s willing to give Dave the benefit of the doubt if nothing else. 

His words bring a smile to Dave’s lips, and he can’t help but mirror it a little. Dave squeezes his hand and he squeezes it back; exhales shakily, then fills his lungs again with air. He’s fine now; composed again, and he can breathe once more. He doesn’t feel as if he’ll burst into tears again if he looks at Dave.

There’s a moment of prolonged silence, both of them staring back at one another, and then Dave bobs his head gently. “Do you… like the cake?”

Klaus snorts, looking back at the little cake on his lap. “Yeah, yeah, I-I do,” he says, cradling his free hand around it. Tearing a piece off, he plops it on his tongue, and without his nerves making him feel shaky and nauseous, it actually is nice rather than sickly-sweet.

They finish their cakes one-handed, neither of them willing to let go of the other person’s hand while relishing in the gentle touch. Klaus isn’t sure he notices that he’s even doing it, but Dave’s thumb swipes gently over his fingers. He doesn’t say anything, but he finds it soothing.

Dave throws their trash away and then comes back to his side quickly. “Do you, uh - do you want me to walk you home?” He offers, wearing a sheepish smile. 

“I-I’d like that,” Klaus admits. With another smile, Dave nods his head, and then they start the walk back home. 

They pause just outside the door, Klaus not yet reaching for it but instead turning to face Dave who was once more sporting a hesitant look on his face, a small smile on his lips. 

“Thank you for coming out with me,” he says. He idly toys with the hem of his shirt, fingers restless. Klaus wants to reach out and take them in his own, but he holds himself back, hesitating, and then he does it anyway. It makes Dave smile. 

“I hi-had a good t-time,” he says, and Dave hurries to nod his head in eager agreement. 

“I totally did too,” he says, smiling down at their hands in a way that makes something in Klaus’ stomach flip. “If you, you know, ever wanted to meet up again… I’d, like, totally be down for that. I’d love to do that,” he says, blinking up at him, and Klaus can’t help the hesitant smile that grows on his face.

“De-defin-itely,” he agrees, squeezing Dave’s hands gently. For a moment, they stand there, out by the front door of Diego’s and Eudora’s house, and Klaus thinks about seeing Dave again another time and approaches such an idea with excitement, rather than hesitant hope, or doubt, or fear. 

He liked spending time with Dave today; he’s liked spending time with Dave each time they’ve been together, and he’d like to see him more. Maybe Klaus could show him some nice places in the city he knows in return for today, or maybe he could buy him something nice. It’d be worth it if it made Dave smile.

“Oh!” Dave exclaims, perking up a little, shaking him from his thoughts. “Have you got a phone?” He asks. 

Frowning, Klaus shakes his head, and he feels a little guilty when Dave deflates a little. He begins to offer an apology, but Dave easily dismisses it.

“No, no, that’s fine. How about…” He glances aside, toying with his lower lip. “I’m free in three days? We could, uh… go out, again? I could pick you up from here, if you want? We could go out for dinner, or - or a walk, or a - film? I-”

“I’d l-love to,” Klaus says, saving Dave from fumbling through date options, because he’d honestly be happy to do anything with him. “A-any time.”

Grinning, Dave squeezes his hands. “It’s a date, then.”

Stomach flipping, Klaus echoes, “a d-date.”

As if processing the word, the both of them stay frozen for a moment, before Dave made the decision that they couldn’t just stand outside all night. 

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” he says gently. Klaus hums, responding with a smile, and when Dave leans forwards a little, letting go of his hands, he eagerly welcomes the hug he gives him, propping his chin up on his shoulder. He revels in the embrace while it lasts, eyes closed and basking in the comfort of being held, until they finally part. 

Smiling, Dave squeezes Klaus’ shoulder gently. “I’ll see you then,” he says, and Klaus nods, watching him slowly back down the porch. Dave lingers a little though, making sure Klaus gets inside, and before the door closes he offers a happy wave before turning to go home. 

Sitting on the couch, Diego, Eudora, and Ben all immediately turn to Klaus, 

“So…” says Eudora.

“Tell us everything,” says Ben.

“Was he nice?” asks Diego, a hint of protectiveness in his voice. 

Klaus can’t help the way his lips tug upwards in a small smile at that. He wheels his way over to them and, surprisingly, he does tell them about tonight. 

### 

“This was supposed to be for you, bro.”

“Ju-just try,” insists Klaus, shoving a shirt at Diego, who takes it with a frown.

“Why would I want this?”

“F-for your i-inter - interv - view,” Klaus states, immediately looking back at the shirt rack to his side. They had come to buy him some new clothes, deciding he definitely needed to extend his wardrobe beyond Diego’s second-hand clothes - and then Diego had mentioned another interview for another job, and Klaus would be damned if he let his brother go for an interview in a  _ harness. _

“I already have nice shirts,” Diego defends, looking distastefully at the salmon-pink shirt Klaus picked out for him before meeting Klaus’ sceptical gaze. “What?”

“N-nothing,” Klaus mutters, reaching for another shirt and handing it over. 

“This isn’t my size,” says Diego. Klaus points a finger at him, eyes narrowed.

“T-then fu-fix it!” He exclaims, exasperated.

“To be fair,” Ben murmurs, sliding back to his side, “I don’t think he should wear a shirt with flamingos on it, either.”

Klaus gives his other brother a glare, but he sighs and tries to find something a little more  _ professional.  _ Diego seems a bit more motivated for this interview than he has for the last three ones he’s had, and while Klaus hasn’t said anything, he (and Ben) have both picked up on it. He isn’t entirely surprised, either; it’s very  _ Diego. _

Or, at least it was, until Ben told him he would also be working with  _ kids,  _ but hey. He’s giving his brother the benefit of the doubt to not go all Reggie on some kids. 

While Klaus had been hoping to steer Diego in the direction of getting some colour in his wardrobe, upon second thought he thinks a darker shirt might go better for this kind of job, something that’s a little more casual but not, apparently, as casual as flamingo patterns. In the end, he settles for a black button-up, which he shoves at Diego’s chest and then shoves him in the direction of the changing rooms, waiting outside for him.

Diego walks out in the shirt, holding himself stiffly as if he’s never worn one before. Klaus rolls his eyes, gestures Diego forwards, and grabs his wrist to begin rolling up the sleeves. It takes him a while, fingers shaky and clumsy, but eventually he gets both sleeves to his elbows, nicely styled, and then he sits back, eying Diego with his lips pursed. Diego only startles a little when Klaus grabs his belt to tuck the front of his shirt in, bearing it all with his eyes trained on the ceiling and a grimace on his face. Still, he obediently bends down a little so Klaus can reach the collar and fix that, too.

Satisfied, Klaus sits back once more, and offers a small smile and a nod. Diego turns around to look in the mirror behind him. He pauses, head tilted to the side as he takes himself in, fingers tugging at his shirt a little. The longer he goes without saying anything, the more a smug smile grows on Klaus’ face.

“You luh-like it,” he states. Diego doesn’t bother arguing with him, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Yeah, okay, maybe I do,” he says, turning to face him again. “With the,” he gestures vaguely, “tuck and all.”

“Y-you’re welco-come,” Klaus hums, pleased with himself, and then he wheels himself backwards to give Diego some privacy while he changes back. Once he’s out, they turn to their main goal of finding Klaus some clothes.

He’s been pretty much stuck in variations of the same outfit, consisting mostly of oversized shirts and jumpers and hoodies that belonged to either Diego or Eudora, along with sweatpants that are easy to change into and keep him warm. He hasn’t really been all that bothered until now - his wardrobe has been, for once, the least of his worries - but as he drags himself out of his depression spiral, he finds that wearing Diego’s dull hand-me-downs aren’t doing much to make him feel better either.

By the time they leave, Klaus has a bag full of brightly-coloured sweaters, shirts, and hoodies, and he feels a bit better about himself. He’s half-tempted to ask Diego if they can just go home already so he can change into one of them and get rid of Diego’s old shirt that he’s currently wearing, but another thought comes to mind.

He turns his head to peer at his brother, idly looking around at the shops around them. “Di,” he says, nudging his hand to get his attention, and then he offers a small smile. “What - what’re y-you getting Eu-Eu - uh,” he pauses, frustrated and a little guilty because he always struggles with her name. Not that she, or Diego, mind, but still. “‘Dora,” he finally says, and Diego hums, “for, ya k-know. C-christmas.”

“Huh,” breathes Diego, pace slowing down a little. Klaus exchanges a look with Ben.

“Ha-have you not  _ t-thought _ a-about it?” Klaus asks incredulously, watching Diego’s cheeks heat up.

“We’re not big on that,” he mutters, and Klaus tuts, shaking his head in disapproval.

“You ha-have to g-get her s-something!” He says, reaching out to nudge him. He watches Diego’s face twist in contemplation. Sighing, Klaus knocks his hands off the handles to his wheelchair and leads the way himself to a nice shop he knows about. Not that he’s ever  _ purchased  _ anything from it, but he knows about it, and has scouted it out.

Diego doesn’t question how he knows about it, but he hopes he takes note of it. The scented candles in here are to die for, and he wouldn’t deny one if Diego got him one.

Although the shop is nice, it’s small, and everything is close together. While Diego browses for something for Eudora, Klaus waits off to the side, unwilling to try and manoeuvre around the place and end up knocking something over, even if he longs to go look at all of the candles in the back of the store. Instead, he just stares and tries to imagine what they smell like. Cinnamon sticks? Lavender and lemon? Sweet honeycomb? 

Diego returns to his side with a little bag in his grip, and Klaus stares at it with obvious curiosity. When Diego doesn’t immediately show him what he got, Klaus changes his attention to elsewhere.

“S-should get hu-her a ci-candle,” Klaus states. Diego blinks at him.

“What?”

“The ca-candles,” Klaus repeats. “Th-they smell nice.”

“Okay?”

“Y-you sh-should get one.”

Klaus holds Diego’s gaze for several moments, trying to get his point across, but unfortunately his brother seems to be as obtuse as ever, because he just gives Klaus a quizzical look and they leave the shop. Klaus tries not to pout too much about that.

“Do we need anything else?” Diego asks, glancing around as they leave the shopping centre they went into in favour of going out onto the main street.

With a glance over the clothes he got, he shrugs and then nods. “S-sorted,” he hums.

“Coffee?” Diego suggests, and with a happy hum, they head to the nearest store to grab a coffee to go. Despite the cold in the air, Klaus gets an iced latte, stirring it around and messing with the ice in it before drinking it, and as they begin to head back to their house, Diego decides to bully him about his drink choice.

“My fingers are freezing and you’re drinking ice,” he states.

Klaus’ fingers were  _ also  _ freezing - probably more so than Diego’s - but he wasn’t complaining. “G-get gloves, then,” he says, shrugging. 

“I’d think you’re the one that needs gloves.”

“I-I’m just b-better than y-you.”

“Hey,” Diego frowns, and Klaus responds by slurping loudly. After a moment, Diego asks, “you like salmon, right?”

“Mmm?”

“Eudora wanted to cook salmon tonight,” he says. 

“Do  _ you  _ l-like sa-salmon?”

Diego pauses. “She thinks I do.”

Klaus snorts, rolling his eyes and settling back down, attention returning to his iced latte while Diego rattles on about salmon. 

They hardly get five minutes down the street before Ben pauses by his side, staring at something with a conflicted look on his face. Klaus follows his eyes and then freezes, waving one hand to get Diego to stop.

“Klaus,” murmurs Ben, seeming to realise he made Klaus notice that too. He steps closer, a poor attempt at trying to urge Klaus on, but Diego’s seen it, too.

Across the street, just stepping out of a bookstore, is Vanya.

She has a book in her hand. The same book that’s in the window of the bookstore behind her. The same book that’s (probably) in the trash outside Diego’s house. 

She looks like she did in her picture on the book, though perhaps a bit - better? She’s probably thriving on her current fame, enjoying putting her book out there and getting attention she never got in the Academy. She pauses, slipping her book into the bag slung over her shoulder, and then she stands up and looks around.

Maybe she felt the weight of their gazes on them, or maybe it was just a complete accident, but either way, her eyes land right on them; right on him and Diego, across the empty road from her. For a moment, Klaus’ heart roars in his ears, and he thinks of the book, and everything she wrote in that book, and everything about him, and the argument he and Diego had-

He breathes, relaxes his grip on his latte and ignores the way Vanya’s eyes burn into him, widening a fraction before her eyebrows knit together in confusion and curiosity (because it’s definitely not concern, he’s sure of that.) He turns, gently tapping Diego’s hand to try and get him out of his own thoughts. 

“D-D-Di,” he says, tongue suddenly feeling heavier than it was a moment ago. Fortunately, it’s enough to snap Diego out of his death-stare at their sister, and he jerks away from her to face Klaus.

“Y-yeah, let’s just go,” he mutters tensely, but he does begin to walk again, and Ben joins them. Klaus doesn’t think any of them look back.

When the pressure in his chest lessens a little, Klaus tentatively sips at his latte again, and hopes this run-in hasn’t set Diego off again.

Luckily for him, he hears his brother exhale heavily, grumble a little beneath his breath, before awkwardly deciding to ignore that ever happened and beginning to talk about salmon again.

That’s probably about the best that Klaus can ask for right now, so he relaxes in his chair a little. 

### 

Eudora does make salmon that night, and Klaus watches Diego eat it with a careful facade that almost even fools him. They don’t bring up Vanya again, which Klaus is okay with - he thinks, at least. By the time they’ve eaten, at least, Diego doesn’t seem so wound up about it, and Klaus feels a bit better too. He tries not to dwell on seeing her again too much, even if it shook him up. 

Diego hides Eudora’s Christmas present, and Klaus puts away his new clothes, happy to have some colour in the little wardrobe in his bedroom, and then he returns to the living room.

Tired from work, Eudora wishes him a goodnight before going to sleep early, leaving Diego and Klaus (and Ben) in the living room alone, a hesitant tension in the air. Ben stares at him as if wondering if he’ll approach the elephant in the room.

However, though seeing Vanya again shook him up, Klaus is… Klaus is tired, of drowning in negativity. It’s all he’s known for weeks now. He doesn’t want to return to the book, and the argument, and all that happened.

So, instead, he returns to his bedroom.

And then he comes back out, goes to Diego’s side, and puts a handful of little nailpolish bottles on the coffee table in front of him, and he says, “g-give me yo-your hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that this is no longer a confirmed 24 chapters...  
> The ending is Not going to fit into 2 chapters so I'm extending it ahjdsh  
> Please bear with me  
> However, I don't imagine it'll be _much_ longer but. 2 chapters is simply not enough.  
> Shout out to Rem and Natch for letting me ramble about this to y'all, i love you <3  
> Anywho I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to let me know what you thought!


	24. Chapter 24

Diego’s nails are a mess, to put it lightly.

Klaus’ fingers are still shaky and clumsy, so the nail polish goes everywhere, but after cleaning it up, retouching it, cleaning it up, and retouching it  _ again,  _ Klaus gets the job done and Diego ends up with black nails (Klaus had tried to paint them pink, but he also wasn’t looking to get stabbed.)

Diego pretends to put up with it just to make Klaus happy, but he knows he likes it too, and it is, admittedly, nice to do to ease any lingering tension, making the likelihood of them falling into another argument smaller. 

Plus, once it’s all cleaned up, Klaus feels proud of himself for both doing it and managing to make Diego let him do that. He sets the bottle of nail polish all aside on the table and watches with a smile as Diego examines them, spreading his fingers and wiggling them a little. 

“Thanks,” he finally says, a little quiet, and Klaus grins at him. 

“L-let them d-dry,” he tells him, nudging his shoulders before moving a little further away.

“Klaus - uh,” Diego pauses, presses his lips together. “Want to - watch a movie? Until these dry. If I smudge them then you can, you know, fix them.”

Klaus quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the television, and then he shrugs.

(They watch the whole movie. Diego doesn’t smudge his freshly painted nails. Klaus knows because he asks him to check that they’re alright.)

As he does his check over the nails, scrutinising them to make sure there’s no stray bits of paint stuck on his skin and no smudges on his nails, Diego asks, gently, “are - are you doing okay?”

Klaus pauses, eyes flitting up to Diego’s, one eyebrow raised questioningly, but he can hear the seriousness to his tone. Sighing, he eyes Diego’s fingers for a moment longer before letting go of his hand and slumping in his chair.

He has been doing better, he thinks. Not  _ great,  _ sure, he’s still paralysed and the ghosts are still as loud as ever and he thinks longingly about how sweet a hit of anything would be at any given moment - 

_ But,  _ he’s not thinking about the worst possible scenarios anymore, and he’s getting out of bed most days too, so that’s got to count for something. 

“I’m b-better,” he settles on, because it’s not a lie, at least. 

“Yeah?” 

Klaus bobs his head in a nod. “R-really,” he promises. 

“I - I know it’s not, like, a quick thing, or whatever, but I’m - you know I’m here, yeah?”

“Of-of course,” Klaus says, nodding hurriedly. They might not be all that good at communication, but Diego sure has made attempts at fixing that recently; so much so Klaus is pretty confident that if something were to happen, he might actually reach out to his brother instead of waiting for things to get worse.

That’s also progress too, right?

Diego holds his gaze for several moments before seeming satisfied and nodding, and the air doesn’t seem so heavy between them any longer. “N-night, bro,” he says, and once Diego returns that with his own goodnight, Klaus takes himself off to his bedroom with Ben trailing after him. (Klaus tries to ignore the other ghost that lingers outside his bedroom door, grumbling through the water in his mouth, spitting it everywhere.)

He’s able to transfer himself off his wheelchair by himself most of the time now - or, at least onto his bed, although the bath is a different situation. 

Flicking on the bedside lamp he has before settling down into bed. His eyes track Ben as his brother wanders in after him. Klaus recognises the expression on his face.

“Y-you’re th-thinking too ha-ard,” he accuses. Ben shoots him a frown, leaning back against a wall, but he doesn’t try to deny the accusation.

“I just… wonder what she might have thought today,” he sighs. Klaus raises an eyebrow.

“V-Vanya?”

Ben jerks his head in a nod. “She saw both of you-”

“Me,” Klaus corrects, because he knows that’s what he means. Ben’s face twists, but he nods again.

“Yeah.”

Klaus looks away, staring down at his hands before he shrugs. “D-does it muh-matter?”

After a moment, Ben sighs. “Guess not.”

Klaus doesn’t want to be - resentful, or whatever, towards his sister, but the book is a fresh wound and seeing her again was just like rubbing salt into it. Although a part of him wonders, if she had seen him earlier, if she was the one he had phoned in the hospital, if they had simply run into one another a week or two before the book being published - would that have changed anything? 

Honestly, he doesn’t think it would. He’s not sure his injury would be enough to take back all that bitterness woven into each word she’d written. And maybe that makes it worse.

Not wanting to dwell on that, Klaus pushes himself lower into his bed and rolls onto his side, back to Ben. There’s a sigh, a shuffle, (a loud wail from outside his bedroom) and Klaus closes his eyes.

### 

“Hold still -  _ Klaus-” _

Klaus huffs, glaring shortly at Diego, but he stops squirming even though it’s getting late and the doorbell could go any second now-

Diego hits the back of his head, drawing out a yelp from him.

“T-the fuck? Ass-asshole!” Klaus cries, shoving him back. 

“Do you want me to smudge it? I’m doing you a favour here,” Diego says, jabbing the bottom of the eyeliner pencil at his chest.

“B-be careful!” He says, flinching dramatically when Diego brings the eyeliner back up to his eye.

“I’ve gotten good at this, I’ll have you know,” he defends, and the hand on the side of his hair not-so-subtly tugs his hair to hold his head in place. Klaus grimaces, but he keeps his mouth shut and lets Diego finish the eyeliner for him. 

“He should have applied to be a makeup artist,” Ben observes, peering close to him, and Klaus holds back a snort. Who would have thought Diego could be a makeup artist before he could?

He knew he should probably start practicing doing his eyeliner again himself, but a part of him thought that Diego enjoyed doing it as well, and he was happy enough to let his brother do it for him, giving them both something special for them to do together.

Finally, when it’s done, Diego sits back. “Okay, there you go, bro. Sorted.”

Humming happily, Klaus turns to the little mirror on the dresser, and then gives Diego a pleased smile. 

“Know the drill?” Diego asks as they head into the living room, and Klaus rolls his eyes.

“Da-Dave is nice,” he states, and Diego grunts.

“I know. But if he, for some reason, isn’t, then find a pay phone and phone me.”

“I-I’m not p-phoning you to stuh-stab Dave.”

“I will if I have to.”

“Awww, what a good big brother,” Ben coos. 

“I-I thought you l-liked him,” Klaus comments. 

“I do. But I also like stabbing.”

Klaus stares at his brother, but he already knew that and Diego’s delight in stabbing things - and people - have long since stopped phasing him. 

He doesn’t have time to reply, however, because there’s a knock at the door. He gives Diego a pointed glare, eying his dumb knife harness warily, before heading to it. Sure enough, on the other side is Dave, who lights up when seeing him.

“Hey,” he says, smile growing on his face.

“Hi,” Klaus says, smiling back.

“Ugh,” Ben says behind him. Klaus only just suppresses the urge to flip him off.

Stepping back, Dave tips his head in the direction of the street. “Shall we?”

Grinning, Klaus nods and wheels himself outside, and then they begin heading down the street. 

“Your eyeliner looks really nice,” Dave comments, and Klaus smiles softly. 

“D-Die-go did it,” he says. Dave lets out a soft chuckle.

“You make him sound like a makeup artist.”

Klaus goes to give Ben a look, but Ben hasn’t followed him out and he ends up just catching the eyes of a ghost on the opposite side of the street. Grimacing, Klaus turns back to Dave, smoothing his face out into an easy smile. 

“Th-that’s what I-I said,” Klaus agrees, even if it’s technically what Ben said, but hey - they’re basically a package deal. 

Dave snorts, grinning. “Think I should get him to do mine?”

Klaus considers the image of Dave in eyeliner for a moment and the image does something to him that he tries not to dwell on too long. When he can breath again, he blinks at Dave and says, “I-I think t-that’d look,” he pauses, exhaling, “ga-great.”

Dave perks up at that, face lighting up a little. “Yeah?” 

Klaus nods eagerly, gives Dave a quick glance up and down (god he’s wearing a leather jacket, who let that happen?) and then meets his eyes again. “D-definitely.”

“To be fair, I’m not sure I’d feel totally safe with Diego holding a pencil to my eye.”

“T-trial and uh - err-ror,” Klaus hums, pausing to ghost his fingertips underneath eyes. Dave whistles, grimacing. 

“I could never be so brave,” he says, tipping his head down. “I’m in awe.”

Klaus snorts, wishing he could reach out and nudge him, but his hands are preoccupied and Dave keeps talking. “I was thinking, there’s this nice restaurant my friend told me about; we could check it out? It’s Vietnamese, if you’re okay with that? It’s supposed to be really good.”

“L-lead the way,” he says, nodding forwards. Flashing him a grin, Dave does just that, and makes idle chat while they go. He seems excited to see him again, Klaus thinks; his eyes bright and hands waving in animated gestures as he speaks. 

It’s nice, to see someone just seem so passionate when they speak; just to see someone as cheerful and positive as Dave is, especially considering how the past couple of months have been for him. 

They reach the restaurant and get a table together in the back, and surrounded by mouth-watering sights and smells, Klaus is eager to get his hands on a menu to see what he can get. In the end, he and Dave get a plethora of different dishes to share with one another, and with the din of the restaurant and the music playing in the air, they have to lean closer to one another to be well heard.

Klaus makes sure to tell Dave the story of how he got to paint Diego’s nails, though perhaps adding a little more drama just to see the way his nose scrunches up when he laughs, and pouts about Diego’s obliviousness when he attempted to coax him into buying him some candles, which has Dave, rightfully so, sympathising with him.

Hand over his mouth as he eats, Klaus asks, “a-are you - uh - doing a-anything for it?” He asks, an image of Dave humming Christmas tunes while decorating a Christmas tree with cute little ornaments forming in his head, but Dave waves it away with a shake of his head.

“I don’t celebrate it,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “I’m Jewish - no, don’t worry about it.” Dave chuckles a little when Klaus, feeling awkward and a little guilty, begins to offer an apology. “I’m celebrating Hanukkah, though.” Dave looks down, a little dismissive, and picks at his food for a moment. 

“I-I don’t know mu-much about Ha-Hanukkah,” Klaus admits, head tipping to the side. Dave glances up, eyebrows raised, so Klaus pokes his arm and leans closer. “Tell me ah - about it. If you win-want.”

Dave smiles a little at that, and he seems almost excited to be able to teach Klaus a bit about it, and Klaus is just as curious to learn about it, considering he honestly didn’t know much about it before. Plus, it’s nice to see the way Dave talks about it openly with him after his initial dismissal, and smiles when Klaus speaks up, invested in the conversation.

Somehow, Klaus manages to find room in himself to have dessert with Dave in the restaurant before they head back out into the evening. It’s not late, but neither of them exactly have any plans for the night, and they find themselves just wandering idly as they talk before coming to a stop in a park so that Dave can sit down and they don’t end up mindlessly walking half-way across the city, and, blissfully, the amount of ghosts around here thin out in comparison to the busy streets of the city, making it easier for Klaus to focus on Dave.

Mid-sentence, Klaus pauses to watch a dog run past them, rolling in the frost-covered grass, and when he looks back at Dave, he finds him just watching him with a fond expression that makes his cheeks heat up despite the chill in the air. 

“You’re still wearing that necklace,” Dave comments, eyes flicking down to the crystal pendant hanging against his chest. Absently, Klaus’ hand comes up to clutch at the necklace that Dave got him, thumb running over the smooth edges of the crystal, and he offers him a smile.

“‘Course,” he says with a half-shrug and a lopsided smile. “You go-got me it.”

Dave returns his smile, but he leans forwards, murmuring a quick, “hold on a sec.” His hands come up, fingers brushing against his neck as he fixes the necklace so that the clasp is hidden at the back of his neck rather than resting at the front. Klaus knows it isn’t the cool breeze in the air that makes a shudder run down his spine that he only just manages to ignore, and when Dave’s blue, blue eyes flick up from the pendant to his own eyes, it seems to happen in slow motion. 

Then he smiles, and Klaus smiles back and chuckles a little at the trance he was almost in, and perhaps Dave felt it too because he falls into laughter alongside him, until they’re both snickering for seemingly no reason beside one another, and Dave’s hands are resting on either side of his neck and Klaus doesn’t mind.

“S-should get you ah - one,” Klaus says, and he lifts one hand to place it on top of one of Dave’s, curling his fingers over his. Dave’s thumb runs along his skin and he quirks an eyebrow.

“Like, matching necklaces?” He asks. Klaus shrugs gently.

“One you luh-like.”

“That’d be cute,” Dave says, smiling. “Matching necklaces.”

“Hell yeah,” Klaus murmurs, squeezing his hand. They sit there for a moment, neither one of them quite yet willing to move away from one another, and Klaus wonders if this is what normal dates are like - if this is what it’s like to actually like someone; the little flutter in his stomach and the heat on his cheeks, the hesitation to say something and risk breaking a moment and the way time slows down just so he can study Dave’s features when they both lean a little too close. He thinks he likes this much better than any other kind of relationship he has ever been in. 

Gently, Dave takes his hands off him, though the touch lingers until he stands up and Klaus needs to use his hands to wheel himself by Dave’s side as they head back to the little market where Dave had bought the necklace for Klaus. This time, he returns the favour, despite how many times Dave insistently declines his offers to pay - but he’s quicker, handing the money over before Dave can - and they leave the market wearing matching necklaces, much to Dave’s excitement.

“Now I can be as fashionable as you,” he comments, which definitely doesn’t make Klaus blush, especially when considering how Dave is in a leather jacket and blue button-up shirt and Klaus is wearing a hoodie with a cartoon ghost on it (he had got it to make Ben jokes to his deceased brother, and he had thought the ghost was actually cute despite being horribly inaccurate of real ghosts. At least Dave agreed with him, though.)

(On the opinion of the ghost being cute, that is. Klaus has yet to actually talk to Dave about powers. He isn’t sure if Dave even knows who he and Diego are, or if he would even believe him.)

“It’s like those necklaces that are, like, two halves of a heart or something? Only these don’t fit together at all. But it’s cute,” Dave says, twirling the pendant of his own necklace between his fingers once he takes it out of the little bag it came in, and Klaus watches the absent motion fondly. It’s endearing how excited Dave is to have matching necklaces with him.

“Hell yeah,” he says, feeling the weight of his own press gently against his chest. Then, a little suddenly, he comes to a stop and reaches out to tug Dave’s arm closer to him. “H-here, I ca-can put it o-on,” he offers. Dave’s eyebrows raise a little, but he hands the necklace over with a smile, and bends down a little so Klaus can reach up and put the necklace on him.

It takes him a while, his unsteady fingers struggling to clip the necklace together, constantly brushing against his neck and the hair on the back of his head. Dave doesn’t comment, and nor does Klaus; too frozen by the way Dave’s face hovers inches from his own and how his eyes look so incredibly blue this close. 

The clasp finally slides together, and his hands drag past his neck, only for one of Dave’s to shoot up and catch one of his. Dave’s eyes flicker elsewhere for a brief moment, and that little flutter in his stomach returns as he watches it happen. He tips his head back a little, raises an eyebrow, and Dave takes the invitation to close the distance between them and press their lips together.

He freezes for a moment at the touch, as if he hasn’t kissed a hundred times before, but it feels so different this time around. His eyes flutter shut and he tightens his grip on Dave’s hand subconsciously. There’s a small ache in the bottom of his neck from the way he has to tilt his head up to meet him, but it’s drowned out by the way Dave presses his other hand to Klaus’ cheek as if to support his head.

And then he’s pulling back, hovering a few inches away again, blue eyes blinking open to meet his. His lips twitch up into a smile, and so do Klaus’.

“I sh-should g-get you ne-neckl-aces m-more often,” Klaus mumbles, and Dave laughs. 

“No need for that,” he says, thumb running over his cheek. Klaus tilts his head up again as if to test that statement, and is pleased when Dave hums and leans forwards to kiss him again.

Dave had broken down a lot of his doubts and insecurities about going out with him in the few times he had, but the way he touches him now, so gently, and the way he looks at him with a soft gaze and subconscious smile, only continues to chip away at the lingering ones, and he melts into his touches. 

A warm feeling settles in his stomach and his chest, and it doesn’t leave him for the rest of the night as they wander and talk about any and everything, and each time he looks at Dave he sees him sporting the same happy smile on his face, widening each time their eyes meet. It doesn’t leave even when Dave walks him back home, and they stop outside the door and Dave fiddles with his necklace.

“Thanks for the matching necklace,” Dave comments, and Klaus can’t help but laugh a little. He still seems so excited to have that. 

“Th-thanks for the n-night,” Klaus says.

“That too,” agrees Dave, offering a wink that makes him grin. His hand seeks out Klaus’ just to squeeze it gently, and Klaus hums when he runs his thumb over the back of his hand. “Am I safe to say I can see you again?”

Snorting, Klaus nods his head eagerly. “Of c-course,” he says, squeezing his hand in return.

“Good. I had a great night tonight.”

Klaus hums, smiling up at him. “Fe-feeling’s m-mut- ah - mut-ual,” he says. Dave’s eyes twinkle in the dim light stretching out from a nearby streetlamp, and after spending another moment looking fondly at their hands, he ducks his head forwards to risk a kiss that Klaus happily returns. 

“I’ll see you around then, right?”

“Mmm, maybe,” Klaus jokes, smirking. 

“Surprise me,” Dave hums. “I love surprises.”

He takes a step back, and Klaus lets go of his hand. “Y-you know wh-where to fuh-find me,” he says, eyes flicking back to the door to his side.

“That’s true.” Dave’s eyes narrow as he smiles, head tipped to the side. “I’ll see you again soon, then. Goodnight,” he says, stepping off the porch after a moment of lingering.

“Dave?”

He turns back around quickly, eyebrows raised. “Mmm?”

“Ha-happy Han-Hanukkah,” Klaus says. Dave’s shoulders slump a little and a warm smile slides back onto his face.

“ _ Shalom _ , Klaus,” he says, “goodnight.”

Although he begins to walk away, he lingers on the street until Klaus lets himself inside and the door closes behind him, and Klaus watches his silhouette grow smaller through the window until he’s gone. 


	25. Chapter 25

It’s three in the morning, and Klaus can’t sleep. 

It’s gotten harder to sleep over the past week or so, which Ben doesn’t think is such a good thing for obvious reasons, but Klaus thinks, compared to how much he’s slept and shut himself off in his bedroom previously, it’s at least a sign of him being more like his old self.

Which, well. Fair enough to Ben, probably isn’t a good thing, but still. 

He tries to keep himself occupied by scribbling idly in one of the sketchbooks Diego got him. At first, when he’d been more composed and more concentrated on ignoring the wailing of nearby ghosts, he had filled pages with rough sketches of Ben, Diego, and even a couple of Dave, but then hours had crept by and the ghosts had worn on him more and his attempts at drawing for a distraction have become more of a desperate attempt, and he ends up scribbling his pencil around until it’s blunt and the page is full of harsh lines and dark shadows that morph into more taunting faces and -

Klaus is tired. 

He scrubs his hands down his face before his hands creep over to his ears, an attempt at muffling the ghosts that he already knows is futile. It was easier to deal with them before, when he had his steady supply of painkillers and when he was numb enough that he barely acknowledged them, but now he has neither of those things and Diego has a whole ghostly entourage that likes to wander his house and yell angrily. Though most of them tend to stick closer to his brother, there are a few that wander out of his bedroom and, eventually, drawn to Klaus like a moth to flame; and even if there weren’t any that did that, he can still hear them easily enough from his bedroom.

When he cracks open his eyes, Ben is perched on the edge of his bed, offering him a sympathetic look. Sometimes Ben is able to ward off some of the ghosts, although Klaus still isn’t exactly sure how he does it (sometimes he wonders if it’s got anything to do with The Horror - or, the ghosts of them) and usually, that’s lovely. When it works, at least. Tonight however, he has had no such luck in doing this; the same goes for the past week, now.

“Diego needs to redo your nails sometime soon,” he comments. Klaus doesn’t bother glancing at them; he’s taken to biting at them, specifically in the past two hours, and the nail polish is all chipped and peeling off now. Absently, he bobs his head in a stiff nod to Ben, hesitantly lowering his hands from his ears.

“Maybe you could go out in the morning and get some more colours,” he offers. Klaus hums his acknowledgement, but doesn’t reply further. He knows Ben isn’t expecting much of a verbal response from him anyway. It’s just another risk of getting more ghostly attention directed at him, and he isn’t willing to do that right now. 

He’s jealous of Ben. The ghosts don’t give a shit about other ghosts, and sometimes Klaus wonders if Ben even sees and hears them the same way he does. It took his brother a while to get used to them, he remembers; but that probably wasn’t helped by the fact that Klaus was high for a long time after his death, and the drugs kept every ghost except Ben away from him, so it took him weeks before he even saw another one; let alone see the gorey screamers that Klaus is most familiar with. He got desensitised to them quickly, though. He isn’t scared of them. Why would he be? They don’t care about him. They don’t chase him, they don’t scream his name, they don’t corner him, they don’t threaten him, he was never locked with them-

Exhaling shakily, Klaus quickly puts a stop to that train of thought. The ghosts are bad, but it isn’t the mausoleum, and he’s not going to think about that now. He’s fine.

He’s just tired. And his head hurts. And why did Diego have to be so damn competitive about racking up the highest kill score back in their Academy days?

He sighs, scrubs at his cheeks as if it will help shake his exhaustion or help compose him anymore, and then he flicks to a new page in his sketchbook and starts idly drawing again. A flower; a group of flowers. Some patterns. A hand. Two hands, with his tattoos. An eye, staring right back at him. He shudders and crosses it out. He has too many eyes on him on a normal day. As if to confirm that, to remind him that yes, there are always people around him, following and watching him (as if he could ever forget) the man pacing his room with a slit throat lets out a particularly loud garble, spits blood onto the wall, and glares at Klaus as if he’s the one that stabbed him.

“J-just fuck off,” Klaus groans, dropping his head into his hands, his sketchbook sliding off his lap and to the side.

“I think there’s a pair of headphones in the living room,” Ben tells him. “I’m not sure if there’s a Walkman with it or anything, though.”

Klaus grunts his acknowledgement, dragging his fingertips back through his hair. Would it be worth it, trying to sneak out and see if his brother or Eudora just so happen to have some music laying around he could snatch for the night?

Well, if it made the ghosts at least a little quieter, then it was worth it.

Slowly, he shuffles to the edge of the bed and then manoeuvres himself onto his wheelchair nearby. Once he’s settled, he determinedly pushes himself through the ghost in his doorway and into the living room, trying to be as quiet as he can so he doesn’t disturb either Diego or Eudora.

Ben guides him to the earphones left out on the coffee table, and then the both of them glance around in search for something - hell, even if there was a laptop he could just plug the headphones into and pull up YouTube, he’d jump for that. 

However, neither of them can find anything, and Klaus deserts to the earphones where he found them, back at square one - or potentially even worse, because the ghosts wandering the living room catch sight of him and direct some of their groaning towards him, shuffling closer and closer.

Worn thin with the ghosts’ torment over the past few days, Klaus makes a split decision. He grabs his coat, pulls it on, and then steals Diego’s house key and lets himself out.

“Where are you going?” Ben asks, frowning. “You shouldn’t go outside just now, Klaus - it’s three in the morning.”

“I ne-need a-air,” he states, and already he can breathe a little easier when he gets out on the street, no longer trapped by four walls and surrounded by ghosts. The pressure in his chest eases a little and he basks in the biting breeze in the air, nipping at his exposed skin. After a couple of moments of sitting out on the porch, composing himself, and then he puts a little distance between himself and the house.

“You’re doing good, you know,” Ben tells him, easily keeping pace by his side. Klaus gives him a questioning look, one eyebrow raised, so Ben continues, “with your sobriety. You’re doing good, Klaus.”

He barely holds himself back from rolling his eyes. He isn’t exactly sober by his own choice, and after his last encounter with a dealer, he’s hesitant to do that again and relive the same humiliation or have an even worse experience this time. 

So, he’s sober. And it is horrible, and he hates it, and if he thought that he could go to a dealer and easily get his hands on anything, he probably would. 

But, also, there’s the fact that Diego’s  _ proud  _ of him. Klaus doesn’t think Diego’s ever been proud of him before, although it’s not as if Klaus has ever given him a reason to be. And despite how much Klaus tries not to care what other people think of him - and the fact that, by now, he really doesn’t, and least of all his siblings - it does feel good to hear his brother say that to him, and see the way he’s genuinely happy to be around him now. Klaus honestly isn’t sure he wants to ruin that now, when before he wouldn’t have cared so much about letting his brother down.

Nonetheless, he knows that Ben is only congratulating him at the moment because he’s outside by himself and he probably fears that he’ll go out and make an attempt at getting his hands on some more drugs, but he doesn’t call him out on that. Instead, he just shrugs and makes a noise of acknowledgement.

“You  _ are _ ,” Ben insists. “And seriously. I’m proud of you.”

Klaus risks another glance at his brother, scrutinising him, but his voice is full of sincerity. Maybe he doesn’t have an ulterior motive when he says that this time.

“Thanks,” Klaus mumbles awkwardly, looking away again. He doesn’t exactly have a goal in mind right now, other than getting some relative peace from all the ghosts in Diego and Eudora’s house. There are, of course, other ones on the streets, and the chilling sound of distant wailing and screaming. Some nearby pause and look at him, eyes burning into him for just a little too long, so Klaus keeps heading down the streets in hopes of them not following him if he doesn’t stick around. 

Suddenly, he wishes he had his own phone so that he might have Dave’s number and could have phoned or messaged him, but then he remembers that it is also three in the morning and Dave would be asleep, and Klaus wouldn’t wake him up just to talk. 

For a moment, he lets his mind wander for a moment, thinking about Dave and imagining him in that situation; hair tousled from sleep, rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up. Sitting up in bed, sheets falling down off his shoulders, hand fumbling to pick up his phone and answer Klaus with a raspy voice. 

He’s sure Dave would answer if he phoned him (if he could.) He can imagine it; can imagine his voice turning soft with concern, wondering why he’s up so late, wondering if he could do anything to help. Dave is nice like that.

Dave is nice to Klaus like that.

A warm feeling settles somewhere in his chest whenever he thinks about him, and it scares him a little. He isn’t familiar with this. He doesn’t do relationships like this. He doesn’t know how to work it or what to expect, but he knows that he likes Dave, and that Dave makes him happy. He’s trying not to overthink it, especially now that he can believe that Dave feels, at least, a similar way towards him, with no ulterior motives, no reason to lie or joke about with this - with him.

He’s not sure what he’s doing with him, but he knows that he doesn’t want it to end any time soon. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts by a particular ghostly wail across the street, too close for comfort. He shakes himself off, pushes himself along the street a little faster. He just needs some space, and then he’ll return to Diego’s once he’s more composed, and hopefully once some of the ghosts have wandered off and it won’t be so achingly loud in the house anymore.

“I don’t think we should stay out too long,” Ben tells him. 

“O-of co-ourse you d-don’t,” Klaus drawls, and Ben just gives him a look before rolling his eyes.

“Seriously. It’s cold and, you know, three in the morning. It’s sketchy.”

“M-my  _ l-life  _ is sk-sketch-y.”

“Forgive me for trying to make it a little more safe.”

“Boring.”

Ben audibly scoffs, but he keeps wandering by his side, glancing around every so often but aside from a few stray ghosts, it seems that Klaus is the only living person around at this time. It’s perfectly safe, thank you very much, Ben.

“Hopefully the ghosts will clear off at home soon,” Ben offers. 

“D-Di has a - a  _ l-lovely en-ent-ou-r-rage, _ ” Klaus states, and he can’t help the small sigh he lets out. Some ghosts tend to wander off without Klaus nearby, but ghosts also tend to hang around the people who killed them, so there will always be a few ghosts around him no matter what. 

If he’s optimistic, however, perhaps a few of them will go away and leave only the quiet ones behind.

People always told him he was a dreamer.

He and Ben wander for a little longer, going aimlessly down the mainstreet until Klaus doesn’t feel as shaky and on edge as before and he can actually brave the idea of going back into that house. Party just to also appease Ben, he eventually decides to turn around again, going back in the direction of Diego and Eudora’s home. It can’t have been more than an hour since he left. His head feels a little clearer, and aside from the dread that always comes with the idea of facing ghosts, he feels almost okay.

So, naturally, the universe sets out to change that. 

He dips into an alleyway with the intention to cut through one street, saving himself some time on his way back. It’s more of an open one; wider, in between two cheap looking restaurants. A car could probably fit through there, only squeezing past the couple of dumpsters there. It should be one of the more safer ones, and he knows that; people typically don’t hang around more open alleyways. No one dangerous, or doing anything particularly illegal, at least. They’re more likely to get caught there, and there’s more likely to be cameras that cover it.

So there really shouldn’t be anyone there. Maybe a homeless person trying to take advantage of the fact that it might be a little safer, but otherwise, there should be no one there.

Not a dealer with a familiar face, one who recognises Klaus a little too quickly.

Usually, Klaus had been able to talk or fuck his way out of bad interactions with him, because the debt he’d had with him had been steadily growing and Klaus hardly ever had intentions of paying back debts if he could avoid it and live; money was hard to get and debts were hard to pay, and there was practically no reason to pay when the dealers would always hold it over his head anyway.

So, Klaus never paid many dealers back. Including the one right in front of him. 

“Fuck,” mutters Ben, and Klaus was tempted to echo the sentiment. 

“Was wondering when you’d show your pretty face again,” he drawls, tapping some ash off the tip of his cigarette before he turns and prowls closer to Klaus, eying him up and down with obvious interest and perhaps a hint of amusement. “Someone fuck you up, huh?”

“I-”

“Probably about time too, right?”

Klaus has the sudden feeling that even if his tongue didn’t tangle up inside his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of this situation. He inches himself backwards, and maybe he can delay this; maybe he’ll accept another promise, or-

A hand clamps down on the arm of his wheelchair.

“Was just thinking about you the other day,” he says. Smoke tumbles from his lips, blowing out into Klaus’ face. “Thinking about you, and how much fuckin’ money you owe me.”

“L-l-lis-sten,” Klaus stammers, trying not to cringe away. “I-I c-c-can-”

“I’ve heard you talk too damn much,” says the man, face falling into something darker. “You owe me money, Klaus. You’re gonna fuckin’ pay it back.”

He plucks the cigarette from his lips and, before Klaus can even think, he presses it to the back of his hand. Klaus cries out, trying to snatch his hand back, but the man holds it in place, pressing the cigarette deeper into his skin until there’s no doubt that it’s extinguished, and then he flicks it aside and grabs Klaus by the lapels of his coat.

He’s not going to get himself out of this situation. He knows he won’t be able to get himself out of this. He probably wouldn’t have been able to anyway, even if his tongue didn’t clam up in his mouth and if he could run away. So, as he has found is easier to do when he finds himself in these kinds of situations with no ways out, Klaus resigns himself to whatever will happen and hopes that it’s quick, even when he feels himself being lifted, back slamming into the wall. 

And then something happens.

Ben’s there, of course. He never left. He watched the whole thing with his hands running stressfully through his hair, knowing as well as Klaus does that things were about to go badly. He mutters something about how Klaus should have never left the house in the first place - and, well, he knows that now but it’s a bit late for that - and then, in anger, he storms forwards, as if he can do anything to help-

His hand-

_ Grabs- _

His shoulder, and  _ yanks  _ him back.

Klaus tumbles to the ground. In surprise, the dealer falls backwards, eyes widening, and his head cracks off the nearby dumpster on his way down. 

Standing above the crumpled form of the dealer, Ben stares at his hands with a hanging jaw, and then at Klaus’ own, which illuminate the alleyway in a faint blue light. 


	26. Chapter 26

“Holy shit-”

“Uh-”

“Did I just-”

“I-”

“Klaus? Did that just happen?”

“B-Ben?” Klaus squawks, eyes wide as they stare back at one another. Ben slowly looks back down at his hands, then at the man crumpled on the floor, then back at Klaus.

Ben just touched someone. Klaus’ hands are  _ still  _ glowing. The man is still - hopefully unconscious, hopefully nothing worse. 

“H-h-how d-did-”

“I think  _ you  _ did that,” Ben murmurs, voice soft with quiet awe. That would explain why Klaus’ hands are glowing, after all. 

He made Ben corporeal? Did he really just do that? He didn’t even know he could do that.

Slowly, hesitantly, Ben comes over to him, still sat on the ground against the wall, and he reaches out a hand, and-

He  _ touches  _ Klaus.

Both of them jump a little, staring at where Ben’s hand makes contact with his wrist. When Klaus looks up again, Ben is staring at him, and then he’s suddenly right there, wrapping himself around Klaus. When he finds himself able to move again, Klaus’ arms wrap around him in return, feeling his leather jacket beneath his fingers, the weight of his chin on his shoulder.

Ben’s grip on him is verging on painful with how tightly he’s holding onto him, but he closes his eyes and melts into the touch, suddenly hit with memories of times he’s just wanted this; how many times Ben has been by his side throughout a particularly shitty situation, and all Klaus wanted was a little comfort, but Ben was a ghost and he could never give that to him.

Or so he had thought. 

He’s never been able to do this before, as far as he’s aware. Never made a ghost corporeal; never known that was a thing he could even do. 

But he’s never been this sober before. Not for a long, long time, at least. 

His eyes flutter closed for a moment, chest warm and tight at the fact that he’s currently hugging Ben, after so long, but then he opens his eyes and glances over his shoulder and catches sight of the dealer still crumpled on the floor.

“B-Ben,” he stammers, hesitantly pulling away. He feels Ben’s reluctance, the way he tenses, but he lets his arms drop a little, sitting back. His eyes follow Klaus’ gaze, turning to look at the man on the floor, and then he grimaces and nods.

“Yeah, yeah, we should go,” he says. They sit there for a moment longer, gripping one another’s arms as Ben looks around the alleyway. His hands squeeze Klaus’ arms before he stands up, rushing over to his discarded wheelchair and bringing it closer to him before bending back down beside him.

Luckily, despite not knowing exactly how he’s doing it, Klaus manages to keep Ben corporeal and his brother is able to help him up off the floor and onto his wheelchair quicker and easier than he would have done by himself, and then they hurry out of the alleyway and back onto the dark streets as if nothing happened.

“You’re too light,” Ben mutters absently, walking quickly by his side and throwing constant looks over his shoulder. Klaus, initial shock and awe fading, holds back the urge to roll his eyes; of course one of the first things Ben does after being able to touch him is to mother-hen over him.

“Y-you’re a-a g-ghost,” Klaus replies, and Ben shrugs.

“Yeah, and I’m not supposed to be able to touch things, either,” he says. It makes the both of them fall quiet. When Klaus glances back at his hands, although he already knows the answer without having to check, his hands are no longer glowing. With a frown, Ben half-hearted flicks his hand at the wheelchair and his hand passes through it.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“How did you do that?” Ben asks him, voice a little quiet, and Klaus pursed his lips together.

“I-I don’t know,” he says. He wonders if he could do it again, but he has absolutely no idea how he’d even go about doing it. It simply happened. 

“Shit,” Ben mutters, exhaling slowly. He stills seems in shock, flexing his hands every so often and staring down at them, as if he forgot what it feels like to touch something. Maybe he did. Klaus doesn’t comment on it any further, not as they begin to approach the house again. 

He’s glad to notice that no one is awake when he gets inside. He replaces Diego’s keys where he got them, and he pauses in the living room.

Of course there are still ghosts lingering around - he expected that, he knew there would still be some around. He was prepared for that.

But, as he’s suddenly faced with them again, his mind replays what happened in the alleyway.

If he made Ben corporeal, what’s to stop him from making the other ghosts corporeal?

He hurries into his bedroom, hands a little more shaky. He turns on all the lights in his bedroom and places himself in the corner of his room, on the corner of his bed, and hopes that the ghosts don’t take much notice of him tonight, because if they do-

He didn’t mean to make Ben corporeal. It just happened all by itself. He didn’t even know how to stop it, either. Surely it didn’t just affect Ben either, but he was the only ghost nearby at the time. If it happens again, then will the other ghosts notice how they’re corporeal? How they can touch him? 

He knows - he just knows - that they would take advantage of their corporeality to hurt him. To kill him. They’d do it in a heartbeat, and he wouldn’t be able to stop them.

Oh, god.

Klaus clamps a hand over his mouth, but he can’t shake the thoughts off; can’t shake off the encroaching horror at this new situation. It had seemed like a good thing initially, when Ben had saved him, when Ben had hugged him, but of course things can never be nice to him. Of course it can’t just end there.

“Klaus?” His brother says, perched on the edge of his bed. He meets his eyes, and somewhere in the hallway outside Klaus’ bedroom, there’s an echoing cry from a ghost. Both of them cringe, but Klaus flinches, and his eyes fix on the door to his bedroom.

Part of him wants to close it, as if that could ever be enough to keep the ghosts away from him, but his claustrophobia always wins over and he can’t bear to close himself in a room like that, especially when his bedroom isn’t particularly big. 

He just hopes no ghosts wander by and notice him. He isn’t sure if the lights being on will deter them or just let them know where he is, but at least if they’re on, the ghosts can’t melt out of the shadows and hound him from the darkness. 

Ben prods him a little more, trying to get him to voice what’s wrong or trying to get him to talk about the incident in the alleyway, but Klaus can’t bring himself to do either. He just keeps his tired gaze on the doorway, on edge for any sight of the ghosts, mind racing.

They could come in and kill him. They could come in and tear him apart like they always wanted to. It could happen at any second. It could happen while he was asleep. He wouldn’t be able to stop it. 

Well, he could, but to do so he’d have to break Ben’s trust, and Diego’s, and Eudora’s. He’d have to find a dealer that would actually sell to him. He’d have to give up on Dave, too; he’s sure Dave wouldn’t be interested in dating a junkie. 

Klaus considers the possibility for longer than he probably should. Each time he decides that he doesn’t want to do that, that he couldn’t do that to his brothers and Eudora and Dave, he thinks about the ghosts. He thinks about the mausoleum; the way the ghosts had hounded him, how they had reached for him, how they had screamed and wailed and threatened to -  _ promised  _ to - kill him. 

Is sobriety worth him dying for it?

He tries to build up the courage to get out of his bed, to get out of the house and to find a dealer, but before he realises it, the sun is rising in the sky and over the sound of groaning and crying, he hears Diego and Eudora waking up. He hears the shower running, hears one of them in the kitchen. He can’t bring himself to peel himself from his bed, still tense and on edge. Ben has since given up on trying to get him to talk or get him to speak either.

“You should go eat something,” Ben murmurs. “You’ve not slept, you should at least go eat something.”

The ghosts haven’t come into his bedroom all night, though. Not since he got back from his walk. He doesn’t have any intentions of drawing their attention to him or his bedroom, even if he could bring his tense muscles to move.

“Klaus, come on,” Ben says. “And you need to wash your hand - the burn looks sore.”

He’s right about that; the cigarette burn from the dealer throbs and aches horribly, especially any time he actually moves his hand, but any time he thinks of leaving, his body tenses and locks up and he just  _ can’t. _

Eventually, however, there’s a knock at the door and Diego slides in. 

“Morning, bro,” he says, glancing at him and then to his window, and then quickly turning back, brow creasing. “You okay?”

He probably looks like shit. He jerks his head in a nod anyway, eyes quickly skating away from Diego, and he positions his hand just so, hoping that Diego won’t be able to see it from where he is. 

His brother stares at him for several moments (both of his brothers do, actually) with a frown, as if if he stares long enough then he’ll be able to figure out what’s going on with him. Eventually, when it turns out that he is not telepathic, Diego tips his head back to the door.

“Coming for breakfast?” He asks. Klaus stares at the door. He wonders how many ghosts are out there now. He jerks his head in a quick shake. In response, he hears Diego sigh, and he comes closer so that he can sit on the edge of his bed. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong? And don’t try to bullshit me, I can tell something’s up.”

Diego’s never believed him about the ghosts before. He knows that their relationship is better, now. Diego might be more inclined to believe him, especially now that he knows that he’s sober, but Klaus isn’t sure he wants to risk it.

“N-n-not hu-hungry,” he mumbles, staring at the wall opposite him. 

“That’s not what I asked,” Diego states, giving him a look. “What happened? Klaus-” He pauses, swallowing, and inches a little closer. “You promised me you’d come talk to me if - if something happened, or if you felt - bad, again.”

Klaus sets his jaw, determinedly avoiding his brother’s gaze. “I-I’m f-f-fuh-” He pauses, hissing out a breath and willing his tongue to work with him, “ _ fine. _ ”

“You can lie better than that, bro,” Diego says. He reaches a hand out to take Klaus’, but it happens to be the one with the burn on it and Klaus yanks his hand back with a hiss of pain, face screwing up. Diego holds his hands up in defense, eyes wide, but then he reacts quickly and snatches his wrist again, holding his hand up.

“What the hell’s that?” He asks, scrutinising the circular burn on the back of his hand. It’s angry red now, beginning to scab over, throbbing with hot pain, and Klaus cringes when Diego’s fingers ghost a little too close to it. He tries to yank his hand back, but Diego refuses to let go of his wrist. 

“Is that a cigarette burn?” He asks with a frown. “What happened, Klaus? When did you get that? Who did it?”

“I-it’s no-nothing,” Klaus snaps, still failing to get his wrist out of Diego’s grip. Diego raises an eyebrow incredulously. 

“Did you do it to yourself?” He asks. This time, Klaus succeeds in getting his hand back, holding it to his own chest.

“Just tell him, Klaus,” Ben mutters. “This’ll get blown out of proportion otherwise.”

Which is a fair point. Klaus shoots him a glare, but he’s probably right. With a sigh, his shoulders slump and he stares at the burn. “I-I went for a wa-walk,” he mutters. 

“Okay?” Diego says, but then his brows furrow. “Wait, when? You’ve been here all morning.”

“C-couldn’t sleep,” he says. “W-went for a-air, and I - I r-ran into, uh. So-someone.”

Diego’s eyes flick down to his hand, lips pressed together. “Did you… did you go out for-”

Klaus hurries to shake his head, dismissing his assumption. “No, no, I-I’m s-sober,” he states. “I j-just needed air. Promise.”

“Okay,” says Diego. “Okay. I believe you. But what happened?”

Klaus toys with his lower lip, staring at the burn. “Ran into an-an o-old de-dealer. He, uh - wa-wasn’t s-so ha-ppy.”

Something dark flickers over Diego’s features, his eyes narrowing and jaw tensing, but he exhales slowly and bobs his head in a tense nod. “Come on,” he murmurs. “We’ll wash that and you can have breakfast with us.”

Klaus nods, but he doesn’t move. 

How many ghosts are out there?

He’s managed to avoid them so far, and he isn’t eager to jeopardize his luck now.

“Klaus,” says Diego, nudging his arm a little. “Come on. We need to clean your hand.”

“I-”

Diego raises an eyebrow at him. Rather than elaborating on why he doesn’t want to leave, though, he slowly shuffles to the end of his bed and transfers himself onto his wheelchair. If Diego notices his shakiness, he doesn’t comment on it and he probably puts it down to the encounter he had in the alleyway. 

Although he’s reluctant to leave, he forces himself to follow Diego out, and he keeps his gaze down and away from the other ghosts that wander aimlessly around the house. 

Diego helps make sure the burn on his hand gets cleaned, and then he makes sure he sticks around for breakfast. If Klaus had any energy left, he might have made a comment about being surprised by Diego’s apparent ability to actually cook a proper meal. Instead, though, he simply stays quiet and picks at it, diverting all his focus onto cutting up his food and eating it, as if if he focuses on that, then he won’t take too much notice of the nearby ghosts.

Despite trying his best not to draw any attention to himself, though, the ghosts always have a way of figuring out that Klaus can see them. They wander closer and closer, drifting from Diego’s side.

God, Klaus hates the Umbrella Academy. Who decided it would be a good idea to let a ton of children  _ kill  _ people?

Diego sits next to him, picking at his own food whilst scrutinising Klaus. However, before he can try to interrogate him again, Klaus makes a quick exit, abandoning breakfast in favour of returning to his bedroom before the ghosts can get  _ too  _ close to him. Hopefully Diego just pins his shaky behaviour on the encounter in the alleyway with one of his old dealers. 

He considers, for a moment, leaving. Going outside and elsewhere, away from the ghosts, anywhere else. 

He’d have to go through the ghosts to leave first, though. And he - he can’t risk it. He can’t risk the ghosts being able to touch him, can’t risk being near them. 

So, he settles in his bedroom, eyes watching shadows wander around his door, groaning and moaning, and he can’t help but think about Reginald. He’d be - well, he’d be  _ interested,  _ at least, to realise that his powers, though not any less useless, have a little more depth to them. He wonders what kind of tests he’d put him through, although he’s not sure if he would even bother, or if he would just toss Klaus back in the mausoleum for the ghosts to tear apart.

Because they can do that, now. And Klaus doesn’t think he’d be able to stop them.

He tries not to flinch at every flicker in the corner of his eyes, but he swears he keeps seeing hands reaching for him, eager and bloodthirsty, and he - 

He can’t do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about the ending of this one but. It's done now.  
> Feel free to let me know your own thoughts in the comments <3  
> Thank you to everyone who's commented, kudo-ed, bookmarked, and read this story so far! I appreciate all the support!


	27. Chapter 27

Klaus leaves his bedroom as little as possible.

It’s harder said than done, actually, especially with Diego constantly hovering nearby, pestering or begging him to get up and leave the room with him, and as much as the notion terrifies him, he can’t help but comply nearly every time. He sees the fear and concern in his brother’s eyes, and he doesn’t want to worry him with the idea that he’s getting worse again, isolating himself, so he complies at meal times and goes out, but he keeps his head down, doesn’t linger around for any longer than he has to. 

He doesn’t know when it will happen. He doesn’t want to chance his luck by hanging around the ghosts, instead trying to delay the inevitable by distancing himself as much as possible, but it’s impossible to stay away from them all. They always know where he is, somehow. They always end up getting drawn to him eventually. They wander around the house and get closer and closer to his bedroom until they’re stepping in, and then they settle down inside there, surrounding him on his bed. 

It’s a game of waiting. He’s just waiting for it to happen, for the ghosts to reach out and grab him; to tear him apart. Because they can do that now, and he can’t stop them.

He’s sure Reginald would actually laugh at his situation. Reginald would find it hilarious, he’s sure. 

He feels trapped on his bed, eying the ghosts in his bedroom warily, listening to more lumber around outside. Ben sits on the edge of his bed, barely successful in keeping the ghosts away anymore - they’ve gotten used to his presence, and it’s not as if Ben can actually force them away - and frowns at the wall opposite him. 

“I keep thinking about it,” he finally says, turning to look at Klaus. Tearing his eyes off the man in the corner, Klaus meets Ben’s gaze and arches an eyebrow. “That night, in the alleyway. What happened.”

His shoulders tense at the mention of it - as if talking about it will clue the ghosts in on this new ability and they’ll be able to exploit it, make themselves corporeal and hurt him. He blinks at Ben, toys with his lower lip, and stammers, “o-okay?”

“I don’t know how you did that-”

“I-I do-don’t k-know,” he dismisses. His fingers toy with the blanket over his lap, picking at it, curling his fingers in it. 

“You’ve not been able to do it since,” Ben comments. Klaus shrugs, refuses to meet his gaze. It hasn’t been that long, and he’s not sure if he’s unable to do it or if he’s just been lucky in attempting to push his powers down and suppress them enough that they don’t lash out like they did before. 

After a moment, Ben says, voice quiet, just above the sound of ghosts wandering nearby, “you’re afraid.”

Klaus narrows his eyes at him, teeth grinding together. A sigh tumbles from his brother’s lips and he shuffles closer on the bed, weightless. “I think it might be a good idea to tell Diego.”

“Why?” Klaus asks, eyes bouncing to the door. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he’s fairly certain the only footsteps he’s heard recently belong to the ghosts. 

“He’ll understand, Klaus. Plus, he’s worried shitless at the moment. Maybe he could even help,” he suggests. He crosses both legs, turning to face him fully, and Klaus tears his gaze away from him. 

Diego can’t help him with the ghosts. No one can help him with the ghosts. What’s he supposed to even do? Stand by and watch the ghosts tear him apart? Hold his hand while it happens? Diego can’t help him-

“Klaus,” says Ben, waving a hand in front of his face. “Come on. If nothing else, he deserves to know what’s going on. And he’ll understand that you’re afraid-” Klaus narrows his eyes at Ben, and Ben rolls his own, “ _ worried  _ about having a new power. Okay? It won’t hurt to tell him.”

Bringing his hand up to his mouth, Klaus bites nervously at his nails. The ghost in the corner of the room groans tremendously, teetering where he stands. Ben cringes.

“I-in the mi-morning,” he mutters, and Ben perks up a little. 

“I’m glad,” he says, offering him a small smile. “You don’t have to go through this alone. Maybe he can - I don’t know - maybe he can help you… control it, a bit more-”

“I-I’m n-not t-tuh-tr-training,” Klaus stammers shakily, vehemently refusing the idea. His powers and training are bad enough as they are without the ability to turn physical; he can’t imagine what would happen trying to actually train his powers by making ghosts corporeal. Actually, he can imagine it, and that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to do it.

“I know, I know,” Ben says. “But just think about it - you’re sober, Klaus. I’m sorry, but… you ought to consider that training might be the best option. Even if it’s just - keeping them away, so they can’t touch you.”

He knows it’s inevitable. It’ll happen one day, so long as he remains sober, and if he doesn’t learn how to get a grip on his powers, then it’s going to happen sooner rather than later. Unless he wants to give the ghosts a chance to really hurt him, then he’ll have to learn how to prevent them from doing so. 

But the idea of training terrifies him. 

Ben sighs again, shoulders slumping. “Just think about it. I’ll try to keep them away, but… I can only do so much.”

“I k-know,” he utters, and he shuffles himself further into the corner of his bed, further away from the rest of the room and the ghosts. He tries not to think about it too much, but he remains tense, unable to relax, and as time ticks by, he doesn’t manage to get any sleep either. He can’t let his guard down with the ghosts so close, can’t give them any opportunity to manipulate his own powers against him, so he stays away until light is filtering in through his curtains and he can hear the sound of Eudora and Diego waking up. 

And, as it’s gone the past couple of days, Diego wanders over closer and then there’s a knock on his door before it opens, and his brother steps in, wearing a hopeful expression. “Hey,” he says, hovering in the doorway. “You coming for breakfast?”

Klaus’ eyes bounce past his shoulder, looking out the door before quickly back at him. The ghost in the corner of the bedroom glares at Diego, shuffling away from him. Before Klaus can speak, Diego’s eyes narrow a little as he studies him, and he takes a step into the bedroom. “Are you - okay? Klaus - you can talk to me, you know-”

“I-I know,” Klaus hurries to say. He doesn’t want to worry Diego, but the ghosts take priority. 

Reginald did always say that his fear controlled him, drowned everything else out. 

“So,” Diego says, shuffling even closer until he’s at the end of his bed. “Klaus, what’s wrong?”

Sometimes, Klaus wonders what it’s like, being so oblivious to the ghosts. Diego doesn’t hear the crying, isn’t aware that there’s someone just over his shoulder, that there are more throughout his entire house. It must be so peaceful, to not know where the ghosts are, to not hear them all the time.

Klaus doesn’t get that luxury, and he can’t fall back on the only things that would get him some peace. He’s not sure he could do that to Diego even if he could, not when his brother has been there for him for so long, and they’ve gotten closer than they have been in a long, long time.

But would Diego even believe him? He’s not sure he could tell him that it was Ben that he made corporeal, none of his siblings have ever believed him about Ben.

(He’s sober now, though. Diego couldn’t blame it on the drugs anymore. Right?)

His fingers pick at the blankets over his lap, studying the pattern on it intently. It’s not as if Diego could help him, though. Diego can’t fight off the ghosts or scare them away. Diego can’t make Klaus control them. 

He glances up, catching Ben’s gaze. Eyebrows raised a little, Ben nods his head, quietly encouraging him on. Diego’s still standing by his bed, still waiting expectantly for an answer, ready to actually listen to him if he talks to him. 

“I-I, uh-” A ghost thrusts their hand through Diego’s shoulder and his brother shudders slightly. A thought suddenly strikes Klaus.

The ghosts might be more attracted to him, but there are ghosts that haunt Diego - victims from his days in the Academy, still trailing around after him, bitter and angry and violent. Would they hurt him too, if Klaus gave them the chance?

He had been so busy worrying about himself, he hadn’t considered the possibility of the ghosts hurting anyone else. 

Oh, god.

“Klaus, hey, Klaus -  _ breathe,  _ hey-”

Diego is suddenly right there in front of him, reaching forwards to grab one of his trembling hands. Klaus flinches, gasps, his throat tight and constricting, and he didn’t realise he was panicking but now he can’t stop. He could hurt Diego. He could hurt Eudora, too. There are plenty of ghosts in this house, and how could they even fight a ghost? They wouldn’t be able to defend themselves, and Klaus wouldn’t be able to stop it, because he doesn’t know how. 

He can almost hear all of Reginald’s lectures ringing in his ears; droning on about  _ control  _ and  _ disappointment.  _ He almost wishes he had listened to anything he had said before he remembers that it was always useless. The ghosts can’t be controlled, and every training session he ever had with Reginald was pointless, and it doesn’t change anything now. His powers are still as useless as ever, still as out of his hands as ever, only now they have the possibility to actually harm him and others.

He imagines, briefly, what the mausoleum would have been like had he been able to make the ghosts corporeal then, but the idea sends a thrill of fear through him and he chokes on it. 

Diego squeezes his hand, then his shoulder, and his face takes up all of his vision, hiding the lingering corpses nearby. Klaus finds himself curling his fingers around Diego’s wrist, clinging to him as he attempts to copy his brother’s exaggerated breathing until his own matches it. 

He can breathe a bit easier, but he’s still tense, trembling, jumping at each too-close movement a ghost makes or a sudden cry they make, but he forces himself to try to compose himself a little. 

(What if he panics and his powers lash out? He can’t even risk that.)

“Bro,  _ what’s wrong? _ What was that?” Diego asks him once he sees he has calmed down. He sits down on the edge of his bed, places both his hands on Klaus’ shoulders. “Don’t just - just shrug this off, Klaus. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong, and I can clearly tell that there’s something damn wrong right now.”

Screwing his eyes shut, Klaus exhales slowly, trying to relieve some of the tension in his chest. He’s still holding onto one of Diego’s wrists, and he has to force himself to ease his grip on him. 

“I - D-D-Di,” he stammers, tongue heavy and numb in his mouth, and Diego visibly softens. (And damn if Klaus doesn’t regret ever teasing Diego about his stutter before.)

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, squeezing his shoulder and shuffling closer. “You’re alright now, bro. Just - take a moment, you’re okay.”

Klaus nods his head, closes his eyes again for a moment and focuses on the weight of Diego’s hands on his shoulders, the quiet comfort offered by his brother’s presence. Diego might not be able to help him from the ghosts, might not be able to defend himself from them if Klaus makes them corporeal and they attack him as well, but he deserves to know, right? So he knows what kind of - of threat Klaus poses, so he can defend himself if he needs to, in case he needs to take precaution around him, or - or-

“Look at me, bro,” Diego says, ducking his head to meet his gaze when he finally opens his eyes again. “Talk to me.  _ Please. _ ”

“I-” Klaus sucks in a breath, gaze bouncing over to Ben, but he stands silently over Diego’s shoulder and doesn’t say anything. Klaus’ fingers twitch over Diego’s wrist and he exhales slowly. “I-it’s the gh-ghosts,” he says, voice dropping low, as if afraid that saying it out loud will get the attention of the nearby ghosts, will activate his powers. Nothing happens.

“The ghosts?” Echoes Diego, expression dropping. Klaus feels his stomach drop along with it and he tightens his hold back on his wrist, as if afraid Diego might make a quick dismissal and then move on to trying to get Klaus out of bed to eat breakfast. He knows Diego doesn’t understand what his powers are like - what the ghosts are like - but right now, he  _ has to.  _

He nods his head, repeats what he just says. “Th-they’re b-b-ba- _ bad _ , Di,” he states. “A-and they - I - th-they’re guh-getting w-worse, I - I-”

“Okay,” says Diego, interrupting him when he begins to get worked up again and forcing him to take a moment to compose himself. “Okay, but can’t you just - send them off-”

“No!” Klaus cries, unable to stop himself. He knows his siblings don’t understand the ghosts and he gave up trying to tell them about them a long time ago, before he even started the drinking and drugs, because it was simply hard to get them to understand what they were truly like. But it frustrates him, how little they know about his powers, how they think he can just choose not to see or hear the ghosts, how he can make them do anything. Their powers are so different to his own, he wonders if they can even comprehend the idea of having a power that doesn’t obey them.

Well, Ben could. But Ben is dead, and Ben can’t help him with the ghosts and can’t even help him explain his situation to the rest of their siblings.

Diego stares at him with a frown and furrowed brows, obvious confusion on his face, as if he isn’t even following what Klaus is saying as he cries out again, “no! I c-can’t! The-they’re a-always th-there, Di! I-I do-don’t c-c-control them, I  _ c-can’t _ !”

And Diego just doesn’t understand that. His powers are all about control. His powers can’t do anything unless he consciously makes them. His powers don’t affect him everyday; he can choose to not use them, to ignore them. He doesn’t have to fight against them, doesn’t have to strive to extreme measures just to spend a few hours without them.

Klaus doesn’t, and never has, had such luxury. 

“I - what does that mean, Klaus?” He asks. Klaus can tell that he’s making an effort to try to hear him out, and he appreciates that, but it won’t mean anything if he doesn’t manage to wrap his head around it in the end, or if he gives up, dismisses it, sticks to the idea of Klaus’ powers he has in his own head.

Gripping his wrist tightly, Klaus looks around the room and says, quietly, “there a-are th-three ghosts i-in this ro-ro-room, Di. Mo-more in the r-rest of t-the h-house. I-I ca-can’t make th-them go. They’re - they’re a-always here.  _ Always _ .”

Diego stares at him for several moments, and Klaus’ heart lurches when he says, “they don’t… listen to you?”

He shakes his head vigorously, and Diego adds, “you can’t control them.”

“No,” he says, whispering it. He fears that Diego will brush this off, or come up with something Reginald might say, advise training and lecture him about fear or something of the sort, but he just falls quiet, lips pressed together, and he looks around the room as if he might be able to see any of the ghosts.

“A-and,” Klaus says, throat tight, but he pushes on. Diego’s believing him. He needs him to know the rest, for his own sake if not Klaus’, and he - he needs to tell someone, even if he knows, rationally, that Diego can’t help him. “I - I made th-them r-r- _ real _ . Th-they can to-touch me, a-and I-” he sucks in a breath, though only manages to get a sliver of air. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to put the words out there, as if keeping silent will keep him any safer, as if saying it might immediately let the ghosts know what they could do. 

Diego stares at him patiently, eyes a little wide as he listens, and Klaus’ trembling fingers tighten around his wrist and god he wishes his brother could help him. He wishes there was something Diego could do to make this all better, but there’s not. There’s nothing no one can do and-

“T-they’ll ki-kill me,” he whispers, voice hoarse and small, and the truth’s out. The ghosts can touch him, and they can hurt him, and he knows that the second the opportunity shows itself- 

They’ll kill him, and nobody can do anything to stop them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if my updates are bad or slow at the moment, I'm struggling atm. Thank you for bearing with me
> 
> I hope you liked this one, thank you for reading <3


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